#this is marshal tea between you and me

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Walter opens the door and you back out its way. You shiver, and hug yourself, the rain seeping into your flesh. He keeps his hand against the door and ushers you inside quietly. You shuffle through as the fabric of your shirt clings to your skin.

“What are you doing?” He asks at last.

You stand on the mat as he backs up, easing the door back into the frame behind you. You look down at yourself, then him.

“I don’t know,” you wisp.

“You’re going to make yourself sick running around in this,” he says.

“I– I know, but… I have to talk to you,” you insist and a ripple shakes you.

“Come on,” he presses a hand to your back, urging you further inside, “let’s get you warmed up.”

“I’m f-fine,” you argue.

He just grunts and keeps going, taking you into the front room. He leaves you standing on a thick rug as he disappears. He comes back to you with a towel and a boxy space heater. He hands the former to you and plugs the latter into the wall, aiming it directly at you. You thank him for the towel and pat your face dry.

He leaves again as you try to sop up the rain from your clothing. He returns again and offers a flannel shirt. You accept it with another chattering thank you.

“I’ll put some tea on,” he says, “then you can say what you need to.”

“Oka–” a clap of thunder interrupts you. You jump and let out a frightful squeak.

“You’re lucky you beat the worst of it,” he reprimands, a lingering reproachful look before he turns.

You watch him once more pass through the oaken door frame. You slowly take in your surroundings. The place is pretty small. Modest by any means. You step closer to the heater and lay down the flannel shirt by your feet. You strip away your wet clothing and pull on the thick button-up that hangs loosely around your figure, nearly to your knees.

You gather up your former outfit, spreading out the layers atop each other. The sound of Walter tinkering around in the kitchen jars you. All your thoughts scramble as you try to untangle what you want to say. What do you want to say?

You sit on your knees and rub your hands together and hold them out to the heater. Lightning flashes between the curtains and another peel of thunder shakes the earth. Walter comes back with a single mug and hands it to you.

He picks up your clothes and you watch him drape them over the back of a wooden chair to dry. He paces behind the threadbare sofa as you look down into the steaming cup. It’s too hot to taste yet.

“So…” he begins with a heave.

“Walt, I…” you wet your lips, “I…” your chest throbs as you struggle to find your words. He crosses his arms, making himself seem even bigger. It’s not lost on you that you’re on your knees, ready to beg. “I was surprised…” you say carefully and his brows furrow, “when you kissed me.”

His cheek ticks and his nostrils flare. He stares you down unflinchingly. You gulp and place the tea down on the floor. You’re already sweating from trying to sort this all out. Why hadn’t you thought of what to say?

“And I didn’t know how to react,” you continue, running your hands along the fabric over your thighs, “so I ran away and I’m sorry. I… I should’ve been honest.”

“You came all this way to reject me,” he challenges bluntly.

“No,” you murmur, “I didn’t–” you pause as the wind whips outside the walls, “I just never expected you to… feel that way about me.”

“Hm,” he rumbles as his expression remains stony.

“Or that…” you weigh your words before you let them free, “I could feel the same?”

His eyes narrow, “you don’t sound like it.”

“I’m saying… I could try,” you fold your hands together, “I want to try.”

“Try?” He growls.

“Please, you have to understand, there’s a lot going on. My dad, the farm–”

“Oh, I know,” he steps around the couch, looming over you. He steps closer and bends his knees, squatting until he looks you straight in the eyes, “do you think I really did it for him?”

You search his face, trying to discern the tides in irises, the tension in his jaw. Your chest flutters as his words sink in.

“I did, Walt, because you’re a good guy,” you eke out.

“If you think so, you don’t show it.”

His coldness jars you. You’re trying. You don’t know how to convince him but you know you have to.

“I do,” you bring your hands up, “Walt, I know you are. I see it–”

“You want the farm and I’m the only way for you to keep it,” he sniffs, “I know why you’re here.”

You look down in defeat and shame. You won’t lie and say he’s not right but you had to try. You’ll just have to go home and tell your mom it didn’t work. She was wrong.

“Why would I buy a farm to keep a family that isn’t mine?” He reaches and cups your chin, forcing your head up, “seems a bit… illogical, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you sniffle, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“But if it were my family,” he cuts you off, his hand firmly framing your chin, “then maybe it would make sense.”

Your breath catches in your chest and your lashes flutter. Does he mean…

“I could be a good husband. You’ve seen that,” he says, “can you be a good wife?”

The icy chill flows back into you. Having it put so plainly is startling. You feel so young to be signing away your life, but you won’t have much of one without the farm; without your family. You unclasp your hands and touch Walter’s wrist.

“Yes,” you utter, “I can. I will.”

[discopaddock]

LIAR - FELIX CATTON

PAIRING: felix catton x fem!reader

GENRE: angst, pure angst

WORDS: 1,3k

WARNINGS: death (only mentioned), heartbroken reader, abuse, alcoholism, lies, felix is stupid, toxic relationship, ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO SORRY FOR ABY MISTAKES.

Felix never understood why she never said anything about her father. He asked about him many times, but she always found a way to change a topic or acted like she didn't hear his question.

“I just don't wanna talk about it, Felix” she said as they were driving to her family house.

The girl saw that something was odd with her best friend, since he came back with Oliver from Liverpool the previous day.

“Why?” he pushed, but didn't answer for a longer moment.

“Ask my mum about it” she said finally, when he parked at the driveway. The girl didn't wait for him and left the car to open the door and step in. Felix locked the car and ran after her to see her hugging a woman, whom she looked alike.

“Hello” he said awkwardly standing in front of them.

“Ah, mama! This is Felix, been telling you about him” she announced and grabbed him by hand, so he stepped close to them.

“Nice to meet you, young man, I've heard plenty of stories about you” the woman said, smiling at him.

“Nice to meet you too” he replied and grabbed her for a hug.

“Go to the living room, kids, I'll make the tea” her mother announced and the girl took Felix to the room.

“Is that you?” he asked, pointing at the photo on the shelf, next to the books.

“Oh, yeah, it's little her” the woman said, as she entered the room. “This was taken at her first music competition” she added, making her daughter red. “She won it, I'm still so proud of her.”

“You didn't tell me you were taking part in competitions?” Felix turned around to his friend.

“You never asked,” she answered and stood up from the couch. “Then we were karting with girls” she said, while showing the photo of her at the karting track next to a kart.

“Oh, and this one is from the Grand Prix two years ago, when you were a marshall,” her mother cooed, pointing at another photo.

“I told you about that,” the girl reminded Felix, making him laugh. Yes, she had told him about it one time. “Come on, I'll show you around” she said and grabbed him by hand and took him upstairs.

“Your room?” he asked, watching her open the door.

“Yeah, welcome to my kingdom” she said and let him in.

“Yeah, it's definitely your room,” Felix laughed. He could see that she was the owner of it. The books that she's been telling him about, the film posters she told him she had watched, the Formula 1 related things - everything that was in that room was her.

“What happened yesterday?” the girl asked, when they were lying on her bed for a while. The bed was small, 90x200 centimeters and his legs were sticking out of it. He found this funny and was laughing until she asked.

“He's a, um” he started, not sure if he wanted her to know that. But she never lied to him, right? She wouldn't do that like Oliver did. She would never. “He lied to me. To all of us” he said finally.

The girl looked at Felix, not understanding what he meant. She saw how they were treating each other the previous day, but she didn't ask since he came to her room and started kissing her, banning her and himself from talking till breakfast.

“What has he done?” she asked and raised her head. She was worried about him. He was her best friend, her other half and she was really jealous of Oliver for the whole time, which Farleigh found hilarious and was making jokes about it to Felix when she wasn't around. And Farleigh liked her more, if he had to choose between her and Oliver who was better for his cousin, he would choose her without hesitation. She was normal in his opinion, not a liar like Oliver.

The girl loved Felix. She gave him her whole heart. But he didn't see it. His heart didn't belong to her, but her heart belonged to him. And it hurt her a lot.

She tried to leave him, for her own good, but she couldn't. He was so magnetic, so majestic that she just couldn't leave him.

Farleigh and her own friends saw how she felt and how Felix was blind about it. Farleigh tried, he really tried to do something but his cousin was as if he didn't have eyes and couldn't see anything about her.

Farleigh told her he felt sorry for her and that she should really leave him for her own good and that he knew it was hard, but she still couldn't. And Farleigh saw it.

Gosh, she spent the whole vacation with him and Venetia because Felix was always with Oliver and he seemed like she wasn't there until yesterday. She was his second choice and she knew it.

So she decided that it would be her last try to cut contact with him. For her own good.

“Felix, I'm not coming back to Saltburn with you” she announced, when he stopped talking about that liar.

He was shocked. Why would she say that? What has gone wrong?

“What? No, no, no, you're coming back” he replied, feeling betrayed.

“Mama said that the great-grandma is feeling worse and worse, Felix, I can't be not around her” she said the half of the truth. This was one of the two reasons she wanted to stay at home. “I can't do that to her,” she mumbled, tears forming in her eyes.

He would understand, right?

“I can drive you at any time here, I promise, just come back with me” he assured her and grabbed her face in his hands gently. “You can just leave me,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“Felix, you don't understand” she shook her head, as he made everything about himself. “I can't leave her now, I don't know how much time she has left,” she added. “You should stay for tonight and go back home tomorrow, it's getting dark” she said and he only agreed.

He didn't want to leave her, especially now.

During the night, Felix was walking through the house and looking for the water. He stood in the kitchen and saw his friend’s mother looking for something in the cabinet.

“Good evening” he mumbled and she answered. He got the water and stood for a moment. He had a battle inside if he should ask about that. And his curiosity won, so he asked: “I'm sorry for being rude, but anytime I asked your daughter about the father she never answered and recently she told me to ask you about him, so could you tell me something?”

“Oh, he was, let's say, not a good person” the woman started and sat on the chair. “I completely understand why she doesn't want to talk about him. She has some kind of trauma and she used to go to therapy, when she was younger” at these words he furrowed his brow. “He was an alcoholic and violent towards us, so you know” she stopped talking, not knowing what to add more. “Oh, and when he died it really hit her, even though she didn't talk with him for years.”

“I'm so sorry you had to go through this,” he said and wanted to hug the woman. He would never have thought that something like this happened to his best friend.

“It's okay now, young man, don't worry” she said and hugged him. “She's doing great,” she assured him.

He felt so stupid. He was such a dick for her sometimes.

Now he wanted only to make it up to her.

So when he was leaving he promised the girl that he was going to do everything for her, because she deserved it.

But he broke the promise. He never had done that, because he died and left her alone, without making anything up to her.

He was such a liar.

masterlist

[mrsbsmooth]

S6 headcanons

The guys finding out she’s pregnant.

This is @caitkaminski and @ellegreenwxys fault

(Note from today I found this in my drafts and never posted it???????)

Jamal

Thrilled. Really excited, but doesn’t want to show it because he’s certain it’s gonna be a prank. One hand over his mouth. “Really? No— no— be serious. Be fucking for real right now. Are you really?”

Ryan

Is this gonna get in the way of his music aspirations? He’s a little hesitant. Probably puts his foot in it.

“Oh, wow, okay, and it’s… mine?”

Lewie

Stares at her for a full minute. Then cries (happiness). Hands over his face. He’s a sobbing mess and won’t be letting her out of his sight for at least a week. She won’t be lifting anything heavier than a cup of tea. If they’re not married, watch out because he’s proposing within hours.

Ozzy

Breaks out in a huge smile. He’s down, straight away. Hugs her tight and keeps whispering ‘I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it’ into her hair. Calls his mum, has a really hard time keeping it to himself.

Roberto

He’s hitting the airport. Immediately. No, he’s not running. He’s dragging her by the hand back to Portugal to meet his Vovó and his parents and siblings. They’re probably gonna move there. MC is not gonna lift a finger for three years they are all so excited, especially him. He is waiting on her hand and foot.

Elliot

Absolutely floored. Pulls her into the biggest, all encompassing hug he can manage. Holds her for what feels like forever. MC realises he’s shaking. She tries to pull away, but he’s just like.

“Mm-mm. Not done.”

Then he’s planning how he’s gonna reveal it to his subs and he’s gonna have the BEST time doing it.

Andy

Grinning and jumping around, “Ahhh!!! Ahhh!!! Are you serious???” He picks her up and spins her around, before realising he might be being a bit rough, and puts her down as gently as possible. She catches him an hour later with his nose buried in his phone and she rolls her eyes thinking he’s researching medical stuff. He’s actually reading about prams/strollers. He’s starting a comparison table in his notebook that he can add to between clients.

Marshall

If they’re not together: 👻👻👻

If they are together: he freezes. Like mid bite of his dinner, he is so still you can barely see him. “Are you sure?” She says she is, and he gets a bit shaky. “And you want… that. With… me.” He can’t believe someone would want him in their life long term like that and it forces him to really think about what he wants. When it sinks in, he’s gonna smile, and go…. “I kinda don’t hate that.”

Hamish

Empire building, right away and immediately. Names the baby “Hamish Albert Mountbatten Bertrand Reginald Gregory Lennox-Ross the second, otherwise known as junior.”

MC suggests it could be a girl, Hamish chokes on his tea and stares at her until she backs out of the room.

Francis

“A blessing from the universe,” he says. Doesn’t even break his meditative state. She curls up next to him, to try and get his attention, and he rests his hand on her arm really softly. “A blessing.”

Toby

“Wow someone wanted to sleep with me that’s so cool.”

[twohearts-hs]

Always & Forever Thirteen - Marshall Mathers x Reader Series

Words: 5.7k

Pairings: Marshall Mathers x Fem!Reader Series

Synopsis: They loved each other with every fibre and being. They knew that they were meant to be together, but it seemed like every obstacle came in the way. She was twenty-one, he was forty and they knew that it would be hard. Therefore, they promised forever and always as they were meant to be together despite every turmoil that came their way.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, Abortion, & Angst.

|| Masterlist for Series ||

Hope you enjoy :)

February 2013

The honeymoon phase came to an end. The week ended and she knew she would be moving out of Marshall’s and back into her own apartment. It was for the better. Their relationship was still so fresh. However, Stevie was so young, and they did not want to be a moment in their life and if Marshall and Y/N break up, she does not want that to impact Stevie.

Marshall and Y/N had a conversation about when she would move back in. However, it got messy fast. Y/N was packing her suitcase with some of her clothes while stealing some of Marshall’s as he came in with cups of tea.

Setting them down, he sat on the bed.

“It’s not like we are breaking up,” Y/N said softly trying to reassure both him and herself. “This is just for a moment.”

Marshall nodded, but the pain was evident in his eyes. “I know. It just sucks…you know? I was getting so used to having you here and it felt so right.”

Y/N stood up from her suitcase and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I know. It felt right for me too. But, this is still so fresh and we need to have space for ourselves and focus on our lives.”

He hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t. I literally live fifteen minutes away and when Stevie is at sleepovers or at their Mom’s, you can stay at my place or I can come to yours.”

“I just like sleeping with you,” he mused, tucking her hair behind her ear, “and having sex with you.”

Y/N rolled her head back in laughter. “I like those too, but this is what healthy couples do.”

Marshall nodded. “I’ll hold you to that. Once a week. Friday. You, me, it’s a date in the sheets and we sleep till noon and then we make breakfast and watch shitty TV until dinner.”

Y/N nodded. “I like that.”

However, as Y/N continued to pack Marshall watched. “When can you move in?” he asked. “I want to be with you. I want you here. I want us to be serious, exclusive and forever. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Y/N heard those words and froze…forever. That was a loaded word and she had not thought it through. Forever with Marshall…that sounded beautiful. However, they hadn’t had that conversation.

Y/N was graduating in June, and she was going to go do her masters but she is unsure where. She was hoping for Michigan but it's wherever she gets accepted and what scholarships.

“Marshall,” she said lowly turned around to see him on the bed.

“That sounds bad. Now you’re scaring me.”

“I am so happy,” she began taking his hand and kissing it, “that you’re thinking of the future. I love how things are going between us, and I know we have talked about me moving in one day.”

He slowly nodded and raised a brow. “I have thought a lot about us, Y/N. I want us to build a life together. I know we have not been together long, nor do I want to rush things but I see us in ten years.”

How was she going to tell him…

She squeezed his hand, her expression growing serious. “I love being with you and I can see us living together and being together in the future, but there is something we need to talk about.”

He could sense the hesitation in her voice and felt a knot forming in his stomach. “What is it?”

Y/N took another deep breath, looking down at their intertwined hands. “Well, I applied to master’s programs in September. We were not talking then. We weren’t together then. Therefore, I applied thinking I could go anywhere.”

He slowly nodded but his heart sank. “Well, I am proud you want to proceed with your master’s but where is the program?”

“Well I did apply to stay here,” she said and his eyes widened.

“That’s great-“

But, she cut him off, “However, I want to work with this one professor and they are waiting about a job offer at Columbia. If Dr. Beau gets moved to Columbia, he has agreed to be my mentor and-“

“Where is Columbia?” he cut her off.

“New York City.” Y/N hesitated to feel the weight of Marshall’s reaction. His face instantly fell, and for a moment, he did not say anything. The room felt heavy with the unspoken tension.

“Columbia…New York City,” Marshall repeated quietly, his voice betraying a mix of disappointment and resignation.

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, her gaze fixed on their hands. She could sense his uncertainty, his fear of what her ambitions might mean for their relationship.

“That’s…far,” Marshall finally said, his tone tinged with sadness.

“I know,” Y/N replied softly, squeezing his hand gently. “And I don’t know if I get in or if Dr. Beau will even move. It’s just an option, Marshall. It’s not definite.”

Marshall nodded slowly, but his eyes revealed the turmoil within. “But it’s a possibility. And you’d move there…for school.”

“It’s not just about school,” Y/N explained, trying to find the right words. “It’s an opportunity a chance to work without someone I admire. You know how important this is to me.”

“I do,” Marshall said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But what about us?”

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling the ache of this. “I want us to work, Marshall. But I also need to think about my future, about what’s best for my career.”

He nodded again, but the distance between them felt palpable now, life a gulf widening with each passing moment.

“Marshall, we could do long distance?”

“And you would come back to Michigan? Like once a month or every weekend or every six months? I can’t come to New York City, Y/N! I have daughters and their mom is here. My company is here. My music is here. I am a Detroiter for life,” he said with anger.

Y/N’s heart sank as Marshall’s words hung heavily in the air. She had not fully grasped how deeply rooted Marshall’s life was here, tied to his responsibilities as a father. The weight of his concern for his daughters underscored the gravity of their situation.

“I understand, Marshall,” Y/N said softly, trying to keep her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “I know it’s not simple. I didn’t mean to overlook your situation.”

Marshall rubbed his temples, his expression torn between love and practicality. “I want to support you, Y/N. I really do. But, moving to New York…it’s a whole different world from here.”

“I didn’t mean to spring this on you,” Y/N murmured, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “I thought…I hoped we could figure it out together.”

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resignation. “I want us to figure it out too. But right now, I just…I don’t know how we can make this work.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words, a pang of fear gripping her. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying I don’t have answers right now,” Marshall admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you, Y/N. But, I have my daughters, my career and my life to think about.”

“I get it,” she whispered, kissing his lips. “I just thought to tell you now.”

“When do you find out?”

“End of the month.”

He nodded, getting up and rubbing his hands on his thigh before pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Then we will figure out once we are at that point.”

-

The day came when Y/N moved back to her old apartment. It was a bittersweet moment, filled with both relief and sadness. They spent the last almost two months with Marshall in his home, intertwined in each other’s lives, navigating the complexities of their relationship. Now when they entered, she had this pang of pity.

Marshall carried her bags into the studio apartment, and he carried an expression of solemnity and regret. They spoke a little, both lost in their thoughts, avoiding the inevitable goodbye that loomed ahead.

It was Friday and Y/N worked Saturday and Sunday. Therefore, they might not see each other till next week which was crazy in their eyes as they saw each other every day.

Y/N began to unpack her stuff and placed it in the closet. While Marshall flicked through her sketchbooks and textbooks. When she turned around, she saw him linger in the corner.

“I guess we bid goodbye,” she whispered. “I will miss you,” she stated.

“I’ll see you soon and you can always call me,” he said squeezing her shoulder; however it was awkward. “What are you going to do this evening?”

“Write a paper and read my readings for class. You?”

“I am going to the studio. We are finalising the album.”

Y/N walked up to him and went on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you,” she hummed.

“Love you more. I guess I go now,” he said and she squeezed his hand. “Call me later?” he asked.

She nodded giving him a final kiss before opening the door for him to leave.

-

In the dimly lit studio, Marshall sat hunched over his notebook, pen tapping against his lips as he stared at the lyrics sprawled across the page. The soundproof walls echoed with the faint hum of music playing from the mixing booth, but his mind was elsewhere.

He could not shake the image of Y/N’s apartment, the quiet solitude that now enveloped her absence. The scent of her perfume lingered in his mind, a constant reminder of her presence that he longed to hold onto. Each lyric he penned seemed to echo with her name, every beat a heartbeat that throbbed with the ache of missing her.

It is funny how one gets so used to someone’s presence.

He tapped his pen against the notebook rhythmically, trying to capture the melody of his emotions. The studio buzzed around him with producers and engineers fine-tuning tracks, but his focus wavered, drifting back to memories of shared moments and whispered promises.

His voice cracked as he tried to lay down vocals, the raw emotion of longing seeping into each word. The music swirled around him, a tempest of sound that mirrored the storm inside his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to conjure her face, the warmth of her touch, the way she fit perfectly against him.

Hours passed; it was nearing midnight and he poured his heart into the music. He found himself replaying their conversation, her laughter ringing in his ears like a cherished melody. The studio became his sanctuary and his prison, a place where he could pour out his feelings yet remained haunted by her absence.

He found it incredibly hard.

-

The night stretched long and heavy around Y/N as she lay in her bed, the silence of her apartment echoing louder than ever. It was the first time in months that she slept alone, without Marshall’s comforting presence beside her. She tossed and turned, trying to find a position that would ease the ache in her heart and quiet the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Memories flooded back with relentless persistence; each one tinged with the bittersweet nostalgia of times spent with Marshall. However, amidst the fond collections, darker shadows lurked…Jake lived here. The last time she slept here, she was bruised and abused.

Y/N rolled over, grabbing her phone and dialling his number as her fingers trembled. It was three in the morning, and she could not sleep.

“Y/N?” his voice was groggy.

“Marshall,” she whispered

“Doll,” his voice was groggy but immediately filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “This place feels…empty and just the last time I slept here… There is just a lot of memories.”

Marshall sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Do you want me to come over?”

Y/N hesitated, knowing it was late and he had been working hard all day. “No, I just…needed to hear your voice. Everything feels different here without you.”

“I miss you,” he said softly. “It’s weird not having you here.”

She sighed, feeling a little comforted by his words. “It’s more than that. Being back here brings up…bad memories. Memories of Jake.”

Marshall’s heart clenched at the mention of her ex. He knew how deeply those memories scarred her. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I wish I could take those memories away.”

“Just hearing your voice helps,” she said, a small smile forming on her lips. “Can you talk to me? Tell me about your day. Anything to distract me.”

“Of course,” he replied, leaning back against the headboard. “Well, the studio was intense. We’re finalising the album and it’s been a rollercoaster of emotions. We are trying to figure out a name. I kept thinking about you, though. Every song seemed to have a piece of you in it.”

Y/N closed her eyes, letting his voice wash over her. “I wish I could have been there with you.”

“Me too,” Marshall said, his voice gentle. “But we’ll get through this. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

She listened as he continued talking about the album, the challenges they faced, and moments of inspiration. His voice was a soothing balm, easing the tension in her heart. For a while, she could almost forget the emptiness of her apartment and the weight of their uncertain future.

“I love you,” she whispered, feeling a sense of calm settle over her.

“I love you too, Y/N. More than anything,” Marshall replied, his voice filled with sincerity. “Try to get some rest, ok? I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Night,” she whispered before hanging up.

Y/N felt a sense of peace wash over her. She curled up in bed, holding onto the sound of his voice like a lifeline. The night felt a little less lonely, and she finally drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Marshall.

However, Y/N knew she had to get out of this apartment. There was too many memories.

-

Y/N sat in the waiting room of the counselling centre, her heart pounding as she glanced around the room. It was sparsely decorated, with soothing pastel walls and a few potted plants scattered about. The receptionist, a kind-looking woman in her fifties, offered her a reassuring smile as she checked her in.

“Y/N, Dr. Stevens will see you now,” the receptionist said gently gesturing towards a door at the end of the hall.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stood up and made her way to the door, her mind swirling with thoughts about Jake, Marshall and the decision that had weighed heavily on her heart. She knocked lightly before entering, finding Dr. Stevens sitting behind a large wooden desk, his expression warm and inviting.

“Please, have a seat,” Dr. Stevens said, motioning to the comfortable chair opposite of him.

Y/N settled into the chair, feeling the weight of the past few months bearing down on her. Dr. Stevens observed her for a moment before speaking.

“Y/N, it’s good to see you again. How have you been since our last session?” he asked softly.

She nodded, her eyes flickering to the floor as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I’ve been ok, I guess. It’s just…everything feels overwhelming.”

“Why don’t we begin with what’s been happening recently?” Dr. Stevens suggested. “Last time, we touched on your past with Jake and your relationship with Marshall. How are you feeling about those now?”

Y/N took a deep breath. “I am going to move. I had a few apartment viewings. I can’t be in my studio, it’s too much. I haven’t told Marshall yet as I don’t know how he will react. Either he will be in favour, or he will ask for me to move in. I don’t think moving in with his wise even though I want to. We rushed this relationship so much; we can’t rush any further. Jake haunts me. I still have nightmares. He is like this shadow that is always there.”

Dr. Stevens nodded; his expression serious. “I’m sorry you went through that, Y/N. Abuse leaves deep scars, both physically and emotionally. It’s important that we address these experiences and how they’re affecting you now.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trying to move on, but it’s hard. Especially now that I’m with Marshall. He’s been so good to me, but I can’t help feeling like I’m bringing all the baggage into our relationship.”

“Tell me more about Marshall,” Dr. Stevens encouraged. “How has he been supporting you through this?”

“Marshall…he’s amazing,” Y/N said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “He’s patient, and understanding, and he makes me feel safe. But I worry that my past with Jake is going to ruin what we have. Marshall has his own struggles too. He’s a recovering addict, and I don’t want to be a burden on him.”

Dr. Stevens leaned forward slightly. "It's clear that you care deeply for Marshall. It's also important to recognize that healing from trauma is a process, and it's okay to seek support from those who care about you. Have you and Marshall talked about your concerns?"

Y/N nodded. “We’ve talked, but it’s complicated. I don’t want to push him away, but I also don’t want to hold him back. He has so much going on with recovery and his music career, and then there’s his daughters. I just don’t know how to balance everything.”

"Balancing your needs and the needs of your partner is a delicate task," Dr. Stevens said thoughtfully. "It's essential to communicate openly and honestly about your feelings and concerns. You both need to understand each other's boundaries and support systems. Have you considered couples counselling?"

The suggestion caught Y/N off guard. "Couples counselling? I hadn't thought about that."

"It can be incredibly beneficial for both of you," Dr. Stevens explained. "It provides a neutral space where you can explore your relationship dynamics and develop healthy communication strategies. It might help you both feel more secure and supported."

Y/N considered this, nodding slowly. "That might be a good idea. I just want to do what's best for both of us."

Dr. Stevens smiled warmly. "It's clear that you have a lot of strength and resilience, Y/N. You're taking important steps towards healing and building a healthy future. Let's continue to work on your individual progress, and if you're open to it, we can discuss how to incorporate couples counselling into your journey."

As the session continued, Y/N felt a sense of relief wash over her. It wasn't going to be easy, but for the first time in a long while, she felt hopeful about the future – a future where she could heal from the past and build something beautiful with Marshall.

Dr. Stevens paused for a moment, his expression growing more serious. "Y/N, there's something else I'd like us to talk about today, something you mentioned briefly in our last session, but we didn't explore deeply. Your abortion."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of that memory crashing down on her. She hadn’t wanted to face it, hadn’t wanted to bring it up again. But she knew it was a pivotal part of her journey.

“It was…one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. I did not want to make it, but there was no other option,” she began voice trembling. “I found out I was pregnant just after things ended with Jake. I was scared, alone and I did not know how to bring a child into that chaos.”

“Did Marshall know?”

“Yes. He was there when it I took the abortion pills. However, I feel like he has not forgive me for that decision as I made it without him. I think it was his. I did the math, and it was Marshall’s. However, I am twenty-one almost twenty-two…I can’t be a mom.”

“Do you want to me a mom eventually?”

“Maybe,” she eventually said after a while. “I was told that I could not have children so for me to get pregnant made me think it was fate. However, I am with Marshall, and I doubt he wants another baby as he has three daughters already. He is older too. Like a lot older.” Dr. Stevens nodded. “I might be moving to New York City and Marshall did not take that well.”

“Let’s unpack that,” Dr. Stevens said gently. “You have a lot on your plate. The potential move to New York City, your relationship with Marshall, and the aftermath of your abortion. These are significant stressors. You’re also a student who is going to be graduating. How are you feeling about each of these individually?”

Y/N sighed, trying to organise her thoughts. “The move…it’s exciting but terrifying. I want to pursue my career, but I don’t want to lose Marshall. He’s been my rock and thinking about being so far from him is hard.”

“And the abortion?” Dr. Stevens prompted.

“That’s complicated,” Y/N admitted. “I know it was the right decision at the time, but it still haunts me. Sometimes I wonder if Marshall resents me for it, even though he was supportive. I feel like I’m carrying this guilt, and it’s affecting everything.”

“It’s important to acknowledge your feelings,” Dr. Steven said. “It’s ok to have mixed emotions about difficult decisions. Have you talked to Marshall about how you feel?”

“Not really,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “I think I’m afraid of what he might say. What if he does resent me? What if it changes how he sees me?”

“Open communication is crucial,” Dr. Stevens advised. “It’s natural to gear vulnerability, but it might also bring you closer. You mentioned he was supportive during the abortion. That indicates a strong foundation of care and understanding.”

Y/N nodded, taking in his words. “I know you’re right. I just…it’s hard.”

“I understand,” Dr. Stevens said. “Let’s focus on steps you can take to address these feelings. Perhaps start with a conversation with Marshall about the abortion. Express your feelings and listen to his. It could help in healing and moving forward."

"I'll try," Y/N said, her voice wavering slightly.

"And regarding the potential move," Dr. Stevens continued, "it's essential to keep communicating your plans and fears. Maybe even involve him in the decision-making process. It might make him feel more included and less like it's a choice between your future and him."

Y/N nodded, feeling a bit more grounded. "Okay. I'll talk to him. I want to make this work."

"Good," Dr. Stevens said, smiling warmly. "You're doing great, Y/N. Healing is a journey, and you're taking important steps. Let's continue working on this together."

Y/N walked out of the counselling session and left the building to see Marshall’s car in front of the building. He did offer to drive them back to his place as it was Friday and that means it was date night.

Marshall spotted her as she walked to the Aston Martin. Y/N opened the door and got in.

“Hey, doll,” he said, leaning over a pressing a kiss to her lips.

“You’re all stubble,” she whispered chuckling cupping his jaw. “You need to shave.”

“Yeah, I know,” he hummed. “Anyway, haven’t seen you in a while. How was your week? I missed you.”

“I miss you more,” she replied. “Week was good. Worked on a paper and an exam. Work was fine.”

Marshall nodded as he pulled out of the parking spot. “How was therapy?”

“It was intense,” Y/N admitted. “We talked about a lot of things including…the abortion.”

Marshall’s face tensed, a flicker of discomfort passing through his eyes. “Y/N, we’ve talked about this before. I thought we are moving past it.”

“I know,” Y/N said gently. “But it’s still a part of our story, and it’s affecting me in ways I didn’t fully realise until today.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before gripping the wheel. “What did the therapist say?”

“Dr. Stevens think it’s important for us to address it,” Y/N explained. “it’s something that still weighs heavily on me, and I need to talk about it with you, honestly and openly.”

Marshall’s jaw tightened. “Y/N, I know it was a difficult decision for you, but bringing it up again…it feels like we’re reopening old wounds.”

“I understand that,” Y/N said softly, reaching for his hand. "But if we don't talk about it, those wounds won't heal. I need to process what happened, and I need your support in doing that."

Marshall's eyes met hers, filled with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I support you, Y/N. But it's hard for me too. Knowing it might have been my child... it's a lot to handle."

"I know," Y/N whispered, squeezing his hand. "I didn't want to bring this up to hurt you. I just want us to move forward in a healthy way."

He took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly. "What do you need from me?"

"I need us to be able to talk about these things without feeling like we're falling apart," Y/N said, her voice trembling. "I need to know that we can face our past and still have a future together."

Marshall nodded slowly. "I want that too. It's just... hard."

“I know. However, Marshall, there is something else Dr. Stevens suggested,” she began carefully. “He thinks it might be helpful for us to go to couple’s therapy.”

Marshall’s brows furrowed, and his grip tightened on the wheel. “Couple’s therapy?” he repeated, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “Why would we need that?”

Y/N could see the walls going up, and she gently squeezed his hand that was sitting on the console. “It’s not that there’s something wrong with us, but we’ve been through a lot. Therapy could help us communicate better and understand each other more deeply.”

Marshall shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t see the point, Y/N. We’re talking now, aren’t we? We’re working through things. Why bring a stranger into our relationship?”

“It’s not about bringing a stranger in,” Y/N explained, trying to stay calm. “It’s about having someone who can guide us and help us navigate these difficult conversations. We’ve both been hurt, and I think it could be beneficial.”

“I just don’t see it, Y/N. I feel like you’re making a bigger deal of this than it needs to be. We don’t need therapy to tell us how to love each other.”

Y/N felt a pang of hurt but tried to stay composed. “It’s not about love, Marshall. It’s about understanding each other better and healing together. We’ve both been through a lot and both of us are carrying a lot of pain.”

Marshall glanced over at her, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. “I get that you’re hurting, but why does everything have to be so complicated? Can’t we just move on and be happy without digging up the past all the time?”

“Because ignoring the past won’t make it go away,” Y/N said her voice trembling slightly. “I want us to be happy too, but we can’t pretend everything is fine. We need to address our issues, not sweep them under the rug.”

“We don’t have issues though. We are a normal couple. I feel like we’re constantly stuck in this cycle of pain and talking about it over and over again is exhausting.” Then he sighed. “I will think about it, but I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Y/N softly said. “Just think about it.”

-

They got home and Marshall got Y/N’s overnight bag out of the car before walking into the house. Marshall went to put the kettle in while Y/N sat on the couch. The tension was still heavy, but she did not regret the conversation.

Her phone began to ring, and Y/N quickly answered it. After a few moments of listening, a smile spread across her face. “Thank you so much! I’ll come by tomorrow to sign the lease. Does a six-month lease work?” She nodded. “Thanks again!”

Y/N hung up and took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. She would be moving into a new place beginning of March.

Marshall walked in, holding two mugs. “Who was that?” he asked, handing her a tea.

Y/N took the mug, her fingers warming against the ceramic. “I applied for a new apartment and I just got approved. I will be moving on the first.”

Marshall’s expression shifted from curiosity to confusion. “You got approved for an apartment? You’re moving? What about your place? Is the lease up or something?”

Y/N set the mug down, trying to gather her thoughts. “I am on a month to month so I can end the lease when I want. However, I can’t be in that apartment anymore. It haunts me. I need something new.”

Marshall’s face hardened and crossed his arms. “Where is it?” Y/N said the location and his face fell. “That is like a thirty-minute drive from here. What’s the rent?” Y/N told him. “That is a lot of money, Y/N. That is more than what you pay now.”

“It’s bigger. It’s a thousand square feet, with a bedroom and not a studio. I can have space for my art stuff. There is a balcony. A gym.”

He slowly nodded. “So, your idea of taking care of yourself is moving farther away from me?”

“It’s not about moving away from you,” Y/N said softly grabbing his hand. “It’s about having a place where I can focus on my healing, where I can process everything without constant reminders. We’re still together, but this something I need to do for myself.”

He nodded and sat next to her. “Ok, I guess. I mean I guess I get it. That’s fine.”

“I’m not asking for your approval. I am not asking for permission. I needed to do this for myself. Now you get to help me move,” she hummed.

“Oh,” he chuckled, “how fun.”

Y/N leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Love you.”

-

Y/N commented to Marshall how his natural hair was growing in and he stated that he would make an appointment with the hair stylists to get it recoloured. However, after much convincing he agreed to let Y/N do it.

“I promise you,” she began as he sat on a chair in the bathroom. “I dye my own hair. I can do this.”

In front of them was hair dye and his shaving materials as she was going to shave his stubble as well. Marshall watched her through the mirror, a soft smile as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I think you should do this naked,” he commented. Y/N was in her underwear and an oversized tee as she faced him with her arms crossed. “I disagree. When you shower, I can join you, but I am not standing here naked in front of you.”

“Tough,” he pouted.

“I love to take care of you and I am so excited to be your hair stylist for the night.”

“You’re amazing, you know that.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Y/N blushed, leaning into his embrace. “You make it easy to be amazing.”

“Alright, let’s do this.”

Marshall sat on the chair, tilting his head slightly to give her better access. Y/N started with the hair clipper, taking the machine he had stored in the closet and cutting his hair. The buzzing filled the room as she glided the machine across his head. Hair fell onto the towel that was wrapped around his shirtless form.

“You’re really focusing,” he commented as he paid attention to the machine.

“Don’t distract me,” she whispered.

Once done, she brushed his head letting the hair fall before she took a step back and smiled. “Looks good.”

Marshall rubbed his head with his hand and nodded in approval. “Not too bad, sweet girl,” he said. “Now dye it.”

Y/N grabbed the bleach she got at the store and began to pour the mixture, reading the instructions carefully. Once everything was ready, she motioned Marshall to lean his head back.

“This might get messy,” Y/N warned, donning a pair of gloves. “But I will do my best to keep it under control.”

Marshall chuckled. “I trust you.”

Y/N applied the dye with meticulous care, working it through his freshly cut hair with gentle fingers. Marshall closed his eyes again, a contented sigh escaping his lips. The intimate moment was filled with quiet affection, their bond growing stronger with each shared touch.

As the bleach sat, Y/N rinsed her gloves and turned to look at Marshall. “So pretty,” she whispered, leaning to kiss his lips. “Now let me shave you.”

“I don’t know if I trust you with the razor. Have you shaved someone’s face before?”

“I shave my pussy. I know how to work around a razor,” she chuckled and shrugged.

Marshall chuckled. “I think I will do this by myself.”

“Ok.”

Marshall shaved his face, leaning close to the mirror as she ran her fingers up and down his back. Once finished, he sat back down. She checked to see how it was lifting.

“Ok let’s wash it out before I apply the toner.”

Marshall got up and walked to the walk-in shower, turning it on and stripped his pants. He got in and began to wash the dye out while Y/N leaned against the wall.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said.

He turned around to look at her and he smiled.

“Join, you minx and I will show you want beauty is.”

All Y/N did was smile and removed her clothes.

-

Hope you enjoyed!

Much love,

Ava <3

[literatecowboy]

The Rattlesnake County War

Following a botched cattle rustling job, a lone surviving outlaw finds herself thrust into a conflict between ranchers bigger than any she'd been embroiled in before. A Sheriff!Price x Outlaw!Reader fic; MDNI please; reader is AFAB and she/her pronouns are used but should otherwise be ambiguous (if I can be more inclusive/there is somewhere where I can improve on making her more "friendly" to readers let me know pls!) Warnings: hanging, angst, death, stabbings, references to guns and shootings, execution, etc. Eventual smut. I intend to write 2 versions of this fic - more information can be found in the masterlist

3. Coming Home to You

You woke late the next morning. The sun fell in from the window and draped itself across you, warming your body just past the point of discomfort. You sat up and rubbed your eyes. The clock read half past nine. 

Dressing yourself, you pulled your boots on and tromped downstairs. You found Gaz in the jail, working at one of the desks. Price was nowhere to be found. 

“Morning. I’ve got something for you,” Gaz said, rising from his chair and fishing for a key in his desk. He crossed the room and you followed, watching as he unlocked one of the several gun cabinets in the room.

“Sheriff Price asked me to return the rest of your things to you. He went to serve a warrant and didn’t want to wake you,” Gaz said. Your face lit up and you smiled as you fastened your gun belt around your hips and reloaded your sidearms. 

“Thanks, Gaz. A warrant on who?” you asked, tucking your guns into their holsters and taking stock of your ammo. 

“One Mr. Gimley. The last alive of the men who attacked Mr. Marshall yesterday,” Gaz said. You stiffened.

“He went alone?” you asked. Gaz nodded. 

“He’ll be fine. Neither Mr. Cavendish or Mr. Sutherland would dare kill a lawman,” he said, locking the gun cabinet and sitting back down. 

“Doesn’t feel right,” you said, shaking your head and peering out the window. “How long ago did he leave?” you asked. 

“Not long, but you shouldn’t go after him. He requested we stay here and await any news,” Gaz said, folding his arms over his chest. 

“I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not his subordinate,” you muttered, pushing out the door and heading to the barn. Gaz called out behind you, but you were gone too quickly. 

It felt good to ride Whiskey over the untamed west again. You followed the fresh hoofprints in the mud around back of Rattlesnake Point until they disappeared into the Colorado. On the other side you picked them up again and followed the track across wide grazing land until a stately house appeared in the distance. 

—

Sheriff John Price had scarcely passed the front gates of Sutherland Manor when he was stopped by a group of armed guards.

“This is private property, sir,” their leader sneered, staring up at Price where he sat on his liver chestnut quarter horse, Judge. 

“I do not mean to disturb you gentlemen, and I surely will be out of your hair in a moment, if you would allow me to speak to Mr. Sutherland about a warrant I possess for one of his employees?” Sheriff Price asked. The guard was about to respond, but the doors of the big house swung open then and a well-dressed man stepped into the sun. 

“Sheriff Price! To what do I owe the pleasure? Gentlemen, this man is of no danger or consequence to this place. Why do you treat him so?” Mr. Sutherland asked, chuckling. Price stepped down from his horse and approached the man, who gestured for him to sit on one of the chairs on the porch. They sat together, and a servant brought drinks, which Sheriff Price declined politely. 

“‘Tis good to see another Englishmen out in this wild country. I have brought with me as much refinement as I can, but such things are lost on these simple people,” Mr. Sutherland said, pouring milk into his tea and stirring it. “Now! To business. What have you come to my ranch for? The ride is surely far, and you would not have come unless a serious matter was afoot?”

“Serious it is, I’m afraid. Three men who I believe to be in your employ attacked me and another man yesterday, and though two are now deceased, I cannot let the matter rest. I bring a warrant for the arrest of the third attacker,” Price said. 

“What a dreadful affair! I can assure you, sir, that I do not employ men who would behave so savagely. Perhaps Mr. Marshall was attacked by his own men - disgruntled by their wages, perhaps?” Mr. Sutherland suggested. 

“It is curious that you know the man attacked to be Mr. Marshall, sir,” Price said, doing his best to hide his suspicion. “I would never accuse a man of your standing as being a liar, but might I perhaps interview your guards to see if they know of such a man?”

“I do not feel that to be necessary,” Mr. Sutherland said, setting his tea on the tray and rising. “And I do have a cattle deal to attend to, so I am afraid I must ask you to leave, sir.”

The guards which had dispersed before shifted, seeming to come alive at Mr. Sutherland’s words. They made their way toward Sheriff Price as he stood on the porch, blocking his way to his horse. 

The sound of a lone rider galloping down the road and toward the property made several of them turn. Mr. Sutherland watched from the entryway to his manor as you appeared on horseback, charging through the gates to the property. 

“Sheriff Price!” you called, refusing to dismount. The guards parted and let Price through, and he met you before the fountain in the drive. 

“It’s good to see you,” he muttered, taking the reins of his horse before mounting up. You glared down Mr. Sutherland’s guards as Price rode up to you by the fountain. 

“Let’s go,” he said, turning and leading the way off of the grounds of Sutherland manor. You followed. 

—

Once the house was but a speck in the distance, you slowed your horse and turned to look at the Sheriff. 

“That was stupid of you,” you said, riding side by side with him toward town. 

“Mr. Sutherland wouldn’t have allowed me to be harmed. My intention was to make a peaceful arrest of the fugitive Gimley to see how he would react. His denial means he’s committed obstruction of justice, which legitimizes our cause,” Price said. 

“Still shouldn’t have gone alone,” you said, shaking your head and casting a glance back down the long driveway as your horses crossed the river. 

“Who else would you propose I take?” he asked incredulously. “MacTavish and Riley are no lawmen, and leaving the town unguarded by taking Deputy Garrick with me could have been disastrous.”

“I know you still don’t trust me. You hate what I am. But we’re in the thick of it together, Sheriff, so I advise you put my skills to good use,” you said. 

It was quiet for a while. You and Price left the river behind as you rode closer to town. All seemed quiet outside of the saloon despite the skirmish the day before. Mr. Riley came storming out of the saloon doors, a myriad of Gaelic curses following him as he untied his horse’s reins. 

“Mr. Riley! Is there trouble?” Sheriff Price called out. Mr. Riley mounted his massive shire and fell into step with you and Price. 

“Only in paradise,” he grumbled, fixing his mask. It had been pushed up slightly and he yanked it back down, glowering at the road as you ride. Sheriff Price softened. 

“Is Johnny okay?” he asked. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Simon said, waving him off and patting his horse’s neck. It was pure black except for its bald face and white stockings, and you marveled at its size. 

“Where’d you get that horse?” you asked, marveling at its size. 

“Found ‘im as a colt, fed him from a bottle like a wee babe,” Simon said, visibly relieved by the shift in subject. “Ghost’s a good boy. Don’t let his size fool ya, love.”

“Your horse gave Gaz a good bit of trouble the other day. A mustang, correct?” Price asked. You nodded. 

“Whiskey’s a mean old girl, but I would never replace her. Bought her off a rancher who couldn’t break her and didn’t know what to do. She once bit off the ear of a man who was giving me trouble,” you said proudly. 

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Price muttered. 

—

Your group split when you neared the Sheriff’s house. Price and Simon went together into Simon’s home, which was attached to his workshop and across the wide street from the Sheriff’s house. You rode around the side of the house to the barn, dismounting Whiskey and calling out a greeting to Gaz as you brought her into a stall. 

“How’d it go? Where’s Price?” he asked, looking up from where he was grooming his horse. 

“Went to Simon’s for a bit. Didn’t make any arrests. It seems that Mr. Sutherland is resistant to all cooperation,” you said, patting Whiskey as she lowered her head to munch on some hay. 

“Pretty horse,” you said, leaning against the fence as you exited Whiskey’s stall.

“Thanks! This is Athena,” he said, carefully running his comb through the mare’s mane. She was a beautiful palomino pinto with white patches and big blue eyes. You watched him work for a while before standing. 

“Got chores?” you asked. 

“A handful. Can’t escape them I’m afraid,” he said with a sigh. You picked up a pitchfork from where it leaned up against the wall. 

“Where should I start?”

—

Price was startled to find you lugging a bale of hay from the shed to the stable when he came around the side of the house leading his horse a few hours later. Gaz straightened up from pouring a bucket of water into a trough and waved him over as you finished laying down new bedding for each of the horses. 

“Good to finally see you, you old chore-dodger!” he called out with a grin, making you laugh. 

“I’m more impressed at how much you’ve already gotten done,” Price said, looking around. Shit had been shoveled, chickens had been fed, the horses had been watered and gotten their lunch, and a myriad of other chores had been done around the yard. 

“Wasn’t all me, cap. Wildcat’s a hell of a hand,” Kyle said, carrying his bucket back to the water tap and leaving it in its place. “I’m off to get lunch.”

“Turns out outlaws can do honest work,” you said with a laugh, taking some sugar cubes from your pocket and feeding them to Judge. The edges of Price’s eyes creased as he smiled. He put Judge away and joined you as you sat on a bale of hay, looking out at the river. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to help with chores. Didn’t expect you to come after me this morning, either.” 

“You’re a good man, sheriff. Your cause is just. I…I don’t want anything to happen to you,” you admitted. You gazed into Price’s eyes, silence settling comfortably around you as you sat together in the shade. 

He gazed back, smiling at you, his cheeks lightly flushed. He seemed to think something over for a moment before sighing and standing. 

“Go get some rest, Wildcat.”

—

Later that evening, there was a knock on the door to the guest room you occupied in Price and Gaz’s house. You rose from the chair where you’d been dozing and answered the door, smiling at Gaz when you saw him. 

“All those chores we did earlier made me thirsty. What do you say to a drink down at MacTavish’s?” he asked, grinning at you. 

“You, sir, are a genius,” you said, grabbing your hat from the desk and putting it on as you followed Gaz downstairs, passing Price on the way out. 

“Coming?” he asked, pausing with his hand on the door handle. Price shook his head. 

“Go, take a load off. I’ve got business here,” he said, waving his hand.

You and Gaz mounted up and trotted down the road. The night air was warm and draped around your shoulders like a thick blanket, and you took a deep, contented breath. The saloon was close enough, and you hitched your horses beside each other before heading in and taking your places at the bar. 

“How did you come to be Price’s deputy?” you asked, rolling your beer bottle between your fingers idly as you gazed out the window. 

“Was adopted by him when I was young. I was born here, but lost my ma and pa to smallpox during an outbreak. He took me in and the rest is history,” Gaz said. 

“Seems like a good man to me, maybe a little misguided,” you said with a shrug, lifting the rim of the bottle to your lips and taking a swig. Gaz shrugged. 

“I’d face down the devil at his side,” he said. 

The night passed quickly as you got to know Gaz a little better. Past midnight, the saloon was mostly empty. You were rising to leave when familiar Scottish shouting erupted from a room on the upper floor. You and Gaz were on your feet in an instant, charging up the stairs and down the long hallway they lead to. 

“-and if ye think I’m not capable-!” Johnny’s voice echoed through the door of the room on the left. Gaz hammered on the door with his fist, reaching for the handle with his free hand. 

“MacTavish, you alright? We’re coming in!” he called, twisting the knob and throwing the door open. You and Gaz stumbled into the room and froze. 

Johnny stood at the foot of the bed in his underwear, gesturing angrily at Simon, who was sat up in the bed shirtless, his lower half covered by the blanket. He reached for his mask and yanked it over his nose and mouth, shoving his hat on and pulling it low over his eyes. You averted your gaze and Gaz quickly shut the door behind him. 

“Can your lover’s spat be any louder?” he hissed, glaring at Johnny as he glared at Simon. You looked between Johnny and Simon, bewildered. Johnny rounded on Gaz next. 

“And ye! Do ye think I’m incapable of fighting my own battles too?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. You blinked, and your eyes darted between Simon, Johnny, and now Gaz once more. 

“What the fuck are you talking about, MacTavish? And put some damn pants on,” Gaz grumbled, rolling his eyes and folding his arms over his chest. 

“Simon says I can’t help you and Price anymore. Says its too ‘dangerous�� for me, whatever the fuck that means. This thing with Marshall concerns me just as much as it concerns the rest of ye, thanks,” Johnny growled, snatching his trousers up off the floor. 

“Nobody said that. What do you mean, Simon?” Gaz asked, exasperated. Simon glared down at the blanket, the tips of his ears red. You grabbed Gaz by the elbow and tugged him toward the door. 

“Come on, deputy. We’ve outstayed our welcome,” you said with a grimace, doing your best to avoid further eye contact with any of the men’s bodies. You pulled open the door and shoved Gaz out before he could protest before slipping out behind him and closing it. 

The shouting didn’t resume as you walked down the stairs and exited the empty saloon in silence. As you mounted your horse and waited on Gaz to do the same, you spoke. 

“They’re fucking?” you asked, doing your best to forget what you’d seen minutes ago as you rubbed your eyes. 

“That’s a simple way of putting it,” Gaz said. 

—

Back up in the room on the second floor of the saloon, Simon took Johnny’s hands and squeezed them gently, guiding his lover to sit back down on the bed. 

“Didn’t mean to say you couldn’t fight your own battles,” he said, pulling his mask back off and tossing it to the floor. Johnny gently lifted his hat off and set it aside. 

“Si, I’m not going tae give up. This is the best chance we’ve had in a long time,” Johnny said. 

“I wasn’t trying to ask you to. I’m sorry, Johnny,” Simon said. He lay back on the bed, pulling Johnny into his arms to lay with him.

“You’re what makes me life worth living, Johnny. I don’t want you to…” Simon trailed off. Johnny ignored the crack in his boyfriend’s voice and rested his head onto his chest, tracing soothing lines onto his forearms. 

“Won’t get hurt, Si. Not a scratch. Nothing would dare stop me from coming home to you.”

---

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 29

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 28 🟣 Part 30

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August, Sherlock, Charles, Melot and Napoleon

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: ongoing vampire shenanigans, an interesting proposal, Melot behaving like a child (it's not Mike for a change. Actually Mike is the sane one in this chapter??? Idk what happened.)

Word count: 2.8k (?) (Word isn't cooperating, okay)

A/N: I've got some seriously busy vamps in my brain these days... Hope you guys enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo @mysweetlittledesire

The house was quiet. Quieter than usual, that is, because with only one human being and six assorted creatures of the supernatural variety, it was usually pretty damn quiet to begin with. You wandered the countless halls, searching for… anyone. Literally anyone.

Where were you? And more importantly…

“Lost?” Leon. The past week had taught you that you could always count on him to show up unannounced. “They’re out, you know?”

Out doing what? Leon smiled at your question. “Running. Climbing.” He appeared behind you. “Crushing a tree or two…” A strange tingle trickled down your spine, following Leon’s index finger, until he suddenly pulled his hand away. “Beg your pardon, I forget myself. Anyway” — he appeared in front of you again — “Marshall might indulge and provide fresh venison for tonight. Although I’m pretty sure we still have a sufficiently stocked freezer.”

After… that night — barely twenty-four hours ago — this really came as no surprise.

“And why aren’t you with them, instead of here, bothering me?” you sneered. For some reason, Leon always managed to get on your nerves, even if he hadn’t quite deserved it.

“I’m a demon, sweetheart,” he taunted. You hated him calling you ‘sweetheart’ almost as much as you’d hated it when August called you ‘princess’ in the beginning — maybe even more. “I’m not quite as fast as them, and nowhere near as strong.” He offered you an arm, and without thinking, you took it.

“Besides,” he said as he guided you through the halls, “vampires may have crawled out into the light over the past centuries, but I am first and foremost a creature of the night.”

“Allergic to sunlight?” you asked, looking around you as you let yourself be led God knows where.

“I’m not abducting you, sweetheart — it really bothers you when I call you that, doesn’t it?” A devious smile lay on his lips as he asked the question. “We’re headed for the kitchen. I’m parched.”

“Alright.” With Mike missing all morning to appear by your side with tea and water, you hadn’t remembered to drink anything. “So, about the sunlight?”

“I’m not allergic. I can survive in the sun as well as you can at night. It’s just that I require certain energies to sustain me, and they are more abundant between dusk and dawn.” Right. Sex demon. Leon ushered you into the kitchen with something resembling urgency.

“Please, sit,” he gestured at the bar stools. “Can I offer you some tea? Water? Coffee? Anything else, perhaps?”

“What do you want, Leon?” Part of the reason he got to you so much might have been that the man could never give it to you straight.

“To talk,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I have a proposition. It’s unconventional, but I’d appreciate it greatly if you listened to it in its entirety.”

Ah. So he did want something from you.

It was safe to say that the fact you’d been blessed with relentless curiosity had come in handy more than a few times over the past months, and it came as no surprise that this time, too, you found yourself curious rather than terrified at the prospect of this proposal.

“Alright, I’m listening,” you said as you watched Leon rummage around the kitchen at a delightfully normal speed. “And tea would be great, thanks.”

Without thinking, you wrapped your fingers around the glass in front of you. Wait. How did that get there?

“Mike may have mentioned something about your bewildering inclination to simply not drink anything, if given half a chance.” There was definitely judgment in his voice. And his eyes. And in the way his lips drew together in a tight line. Oh, and there was that sigh. It was subtle, but that didn’t mean you missed it. “Why don’t you take better care of yourself?”

“I have four vampires doing it for me,” you deadpanned.

“Potentially six,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. “And a half, if you play your cards right.”

You didn’t doubt that that was a hint towards the offer you were about to be presented with. “From where I’m sitting, I’m the one with a great hand,” you said, calming your nerves with a quiet, steady breath as your curiosity spiked. “You’re the one who has to tread carefully, I feel.”

A breeze blew past you as Leon moved to stand behind you, and as much as you wished for yourself to have gotten used to it by now, the move still startled you. Damn him.

His hands landed on your shoulders, and he squeezed lightly. Then, he was back at the counter, opposite you.

“Alright,” he said as he put your cup of tea on the bar. “You’re not wrong. And I won’t blame you if you decline my offer. After all, we barely know each other, and it is a proposal of a rather intimate nature — for you, at least. Less so for me. I simply need to eat.”

Oh. Oh. It wasn’t unexpected, per se, that the offer was related to that, but still… You knew what he was and how he fed. And now, you were somehow going to be asked to be a part of that.

“You want to feed on… me?” You already hadn’t understood this when he brought it up the other day. How did this even work? Did you… “So, what? You want to sleep with me?” The words were out before you had thought them through, and when Leon started laughing, you wanted to die of embarrassment.

“My apologies,” he said, “it’s an understandable question, but not quite what I was going to suggest. Although I wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity if it presented itself, I must admit.”

You stared at him for a few seconds — very long seconds — and sighed. “August?” You didn’t have to turn around to know he walked into the kitchen.

“There goes our privacy,” Leon said softly as he leaned on the counter.

“What’s going on here?” August asked, clearly suspicious of the scene in front of him. And with good reason. He knew — probably better than anyone — that you and Leon hardly got along great.

“Your darling brother wants to fuck me,” you said casually.

August had already begun to make himself a cup of coffee, and you watched his knuckles go pale as his grip on the countertop tightened. Leon knew better than to try and deny it.

“It’s not much of a compliment, princess,” August said softly after taking a deep breath. He turned to lean against the counter, coffee in hand. “My brother wants to fuck everything that moves.”

“Isn’t that a little stereotypical?” a suddenly appearing Mike weighed in. Marshall, Sherlock and Melot walked in soon after. They seemed equally surprised to see you and Leon having your little tea party.

“How fantastic,” Leon sneered. “The whole gang is back together. Sweetheart, I was hoping to have this conversation in private. Do you mind—”

“What you want does not just concern her,” Mike said sharply. “I’m staying. And I doubt the others will let you talk them into leaving.”

“At the very least it doesn’t concern Melot at this time, or Sherlock… potentially ever,” Leon tried, his eyes almost pleading with Mike to reduce the crowd.

“What does he want?” Sherlock asked. He was probably the only one who didn’t already know — and that included Melot, which you really didn’t mind as much as you probably should have.

The others looked at each other, then at Leon, then you before turning back to Sherlock. No one said anything.

“I’m not making this easy on him by telling you,” Mike said. “Like, don’t get me wrong, it’s not weird or anything — not weirder than we’re used to anyway. But I want him to ask for it” — he shot Leon a sharp glance — “himself.”

“Alright, out with it,” August sighed, clearly already running out of patience.

“Do I get to make my case without interruption?” Leon asked. It wasn’t the worst question. August looked halfway ready to lose his shit, and it probably wouldn’t take much to put Marshall on edge, either. Everyone nodded in response to the question. “Alright. We’re all aware of what I am, what I do, and how I feed, so I suggest we skip the biology lesson and move straight to the request—”

“You’re not screwing her,” Marshall snapped.

“Well, so much for no interruptions.” Leon rolled his eyes. “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t feel like I have to suffer through this for a simple question, I’ll take my l—”

“Marshall, shut up and sit down. And August, not a word out of you, either.” You watched, trying to control your face while both men begrudgingly obeyed your commands. You looked at Sherlock, who nodded approvingly. “Leon, please continue. I’m listening.”

“When I decided to spend my summer here—”

“You mean ‘showed up completely unannounced’?” Melot asked, scowling at Leon.

“Melot shut. up.” The moment the words left your mouth, you felt you’d overplayed your hand.

He appeared in front of you, his face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin. He was cold — very cold. “Did no one warn you that my age might provide a bit of an obstacle for those newly acquired powers of yours? What was your plan, my Queen? Send me to my room like a petulant child? Have me sit on the floor by your feet like a dog? I’ve been through it all, your highness, I—”

“Melot, that’s enough.” Sherlock’s voice was barely a whisper, so low you had trouble understanding what he said at all. “I must say the introduction has given me a good sense of what this request will be. Mike, am I correct in assuming it indeed does not concern either me or Melot?”

Mike nodded solemnly.

“Then I shall take this as my cue to leave, and you” — he grabbed Melot by the collar of his shirt — “are coming with me. And you’re staying with me until you can— Speak of the Devil, Priya’s timing couldn’t have been better. Come on.”

They disappeared, and the kitchen went awfully quiet for a moment, until Leon cleared his throat. “As I was saying: When I decided to spend my summer here, I was aware of the existing arrangement. I was, however, unaware of the… shall we say ‘intimate advancements’ within that arrangement.”

“And long story short, you want in?” you asked, hoping to speed things along a bit. It still wasn’t entirely clear to you how this was all going to work without… sex.

Marshall raised his hand, to your surprise, and you nodded. “Thank you. If I may answer that question you didn’t ask… It won’t work out without sex.”

“But he said he didn’t want—”

“For the sake of honesty, I didn’t say I don’t want to,” Leon reminded you, “but rather that that was not what I’m asking.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“I’m asking if I can feed on your passive sexual energy,” he explained briefly. That wasn’t nearly enough information.

You turned to August, vaguely remembering a conversation you’d had with him. “I thought succu— I mean incubi only fed off… Orgasms?”

“Is that what he told you?” Leon laughed. “I don’t blame him, of course. But I’d hardly dare to lecture you on vampires and their habits, despite my technically dual nature.” He sounded annoyed — maybe rightfully so.

“The people who work for me like their jobs, August, but they don’t have orgasm after orgasm on stage.” Napoleon sighed and shook his head. Whatever remnant of understanding you’d had about what was going on in this conversation was gone now, and you were lost.

“Rewind and freeze, guys. Passive energy? People who work for you?”

“The details of my occupation are best left for another conversation. To answer your other question: Passive energy refers to any kind of consumable energy a succubus or incubus can feed on, that they are not involved in creating. Orgasm isn’t a requirement at all — any incubus worth his salt can pick up on far more subtle kinds of energy. Now, it is generally acceptable to munch on the small things without asking — flirting, tension, a kiss or other displays of affection, et cetera. Now, when things progress beyond that most humans would consider feeding off that without asking for consent a major violation of privacy—”

“Just… humans?” Was that such a completely unreasonable train of thought, then?

“A few centuries go a long way in changing your perspective on a host of things,” August explained patiently. “You’ll experience some difficulty finding a strictly monogamous vampire over the age of… let’s say two-fifty.”

“Are there monogamous incubi? Is it ‘incubi’ or ‘incubuses’?”

“Either of those is correct,” Leon answered with a charming smile. “And to answer your question bluntly: no. As a species, we’re exclusively non-monogamous — not necessarily unwilling to enter into serious relationships, but monogamy would be… torture.”

“Questions about your kind aside…” Was Mike the one keeping a conversation on track for a change? What had the world come to? “Get to the proposal. I mean… I have my answer ready to go.”

“Right.” Leon nodded. “Well, without further ado: I’d like to request permission to feed on the available energies in this house.”

You’d seen it coming for a while now, but the question still took you by surprise on a level you didn’t quite understand. It was quiet for a while, and your face got hotter with every passing second, because everyone was staring at you.

In the end, it was Mike who broke the silence. “I’m okay with it.” No surprise there, really.

“It’d be hypocritical of me to be opposed to this,” August said next.

“I’m willing to pay my share in your current arrangement, if that makes you more comfo—”

“No!” That didn’t sit right with you at all. Four pairs of eyebrows shot up in surprise at your answer. How were you going to explain this? “That agreement comes with the responsibility to provide them with food no matter the circumstances. I don’t think I can promise you that.”

Leon nodded. “I understand that. That said… Do you have an answer for me at all?”

Pushy. Arrogant. Annoyingly sure of himself. Why on earth did you like that about him?

“Pardon my ignorance, but how does this work?” you asked, your voice trembling ever so slightly. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the guys picked up on that — especially since Mike put his arms around you and put his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re asking me if I have to be in the room, aren’t you?” For someone who didn’t read minds… “I don’t read minds, sweetheart. But I do read people. And your face has subtitles.”

Great. “Yeah. That’s what I’m asking.”

“I don’t have to be,” he answered plainly. “I’m not opposed to it, either.”

“Watch it,” August growled.

“Can’t blame me for trying, brother.”

“Okay, so… It would be much like August… listening in, then?” You took a deep breath. That didn’t sound too bad — not that you were in any way dead set against his presence, either… As soon as you caught yourself with that thought, you heard Mike swallow hard.

Dirty little pervert.

“Does that still surprise you?” No. No, it definitely did not. You side-eyed Marshall, who tried hard to fight a dirty smile off his face.

“You’re no better.” The remark made him chuckle, and an image of your night in the shower flashed in your mind for a moment.

You cleared your throat before turning to Leon again. “I think my diplomatic answer would be that I’m fine with you feeding off anything that doesn’t happen behind closed doors,” you said slowly. “Other than that, I’d like the opportunity to go on a case-by-case basis, but I don’t see how that would work.”

“My guess is that someone would be available to communicate your wishes,” Leon offered. “And if not, well… It’s ‘no’, unless it’s ‘yes’, right?”

“That sounds agreeable.” You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, which was unusually dry, but your hands were so sweaty that you didn’t dare to pick up your cup.

“Hm, no door in sight,” Leon muttered softly. “Lucky me.”

His teasing would be the death of you, dammit! “Keep in mind that me not taking on any real responsibility in this matter, means I can deny you everything. You might want to consider playing nice.” “Where’s the fun in that, sweetheart?”

[hermannsthumb]

Please please please more "Fake Dating for Funding"! I haven't read much PR stuff in the last few years and your newest piece jerked me right back to that old standby hyperfixation. It's so cute!!

answering this sooooo late, OOPS SORRY, but here's a little ficlet as i try to get myself back in the writing groove.... the original fake dating for funding fic is right here, but i was thinking over plot concepts earlier and this one made me laugh, LMAO

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

"I have a favor to ask of you," Hermann says one morning.

Typical of Hermann, it's blunt and to the point, no show of bartering or sweetening Newt up with dessert or anything like that. In theory Newt should be annoyed, but Hermann indebts himself to Newt so rarely (and never willingly) that Newt’s actually kind of interested to see where this goes. He pushes up his work goggles and strips off his gloves without a second thought.

Hermann is standing directly over Newt’s side of the yellow line, one hand balled into a fist while the other white-knuckles his cane, his shoulders hunched over. He looks extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand Hermann rarely looks comfortable, so this isn’t anything new, or something to draw immediate conclusions from.

“Okay,” Newt says. “Lay it on me.”

“I would not blame you if you found yourself thinking less of me,” Hermann says, “or outright rejecting the proposition. I’m aware it is far more than one typically asks of a…” He swallows. “Colleague.”

The word hangs awkwardly in the air between them. It’s not that it’s an inaccurate descriptor, but it doesn’t completely encompass the, uh, reality of things, being that they were a litttttle more than colleagues up until two months ago. (Not that they called themselves anything other than colleagues for the duration of that whole—indiscretion. It was a little confusing.)

Still, Hermann’s groveling, and Newt’s interested. “Oh, sweet,” he says, maybe a little too casually. Just two bros having a normal conversation about how they're nothing more than colleagues. “I’m totally in. What are we doing? Is it illegal or something?”

He could actually use Hermann’s mad computer hacker skills for something in the near future—Newt wants unrestricted card access to the typically very restricted hazardous materials storage in the jaeger bay for reasons he’s not going to disclose—and doing something illegal for the guy would be a great way to get him to do something illegal for Newt in return. In a favor-for-favor way more than a blackmail way, because Newt mostly isn't a dick. And anyway, maybe doing some platonic fun k-science bonding time will be good for them. Make things a little less tense. Newt’s been working on that really hard lately, mostly because his multiple Shatterdome transfer requests have been outright denied by the Marshal and he seems to be out of alternatives.

“No,” Hermann says.

He looks at his shoes. He’s about two unlucky inches away from stepping on a piece of kaiju spleen Newt dropped earlier and forgot about, and the fact that he’s not taking any precautions to shield his precious ugly wingtips tells Newt he means business. “Perhaps a little…morally questionable.”

“Oooh, Hermann, you’re such a tease,” Newt says. He tosses his nasty gloves in the trash can and scoots Hermann towards the cluster of their desks with a hand to the small of his back, ignoring the way Hermann bristles and digs the end of his cane halfheartedly into the floor. “Come on, come on, I’ll make coffee, stop looking so depressed.”

He does make himself a coffee but brews a quick cup of black tea for Hermann, which turns out to be kind of a waste of his time, since Hermann blatantly ignores the mug Newt slides in front of him. He’s gone from looking like the most emo librarian in the world to looking vaguely nauseous. If circumstances weren’t as they are, Newt might say it was making him look exceptionally alluring—that whole sickly Victorian lad thing really gets him going. “If you’ve forgotten,” Hermann says, “we’ve another of those foolish PPDC fundraisers soon, at the end of the month.”

“Oh.” Newt leans back in his chair, a little disappointed. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Hermann says. “No.” He shakes his head gravely. He’s so dramatic sometimes, it’s kinda cute. “It is the root of the problem, but not the entirety of it. You’ll recall, I presume, how badly in need of funding we are, myself in particular for the Breach-mapping software I am attempting to develop.”

Newt does recall, because yeah, he is also in need of funding real bad. Can’t make awesome, ground-breaking advancements in the field of kaiju biology without any kaiju bits to study the biology of. That spleen currently threatening to ooze over the yellow tape line represents approximately sixty percent of Newt's remaining currently viable samples. “Uh, yeah?”

“I have,” Hermann makes a face, “a working theory, so to speak. You’ll further recall the similar PPDC event we attended in August of last year?”

“Yeah?”

“And the one we attended this year, in the week following our—”

“Yeah, Hermann, I remember.”

“Right,” Hermann says.

Newt remembers the second one more clearly than he likes, because having to make nice with Hermann to present a united front six days after a very, very stupid argument about Newt maaaaybe stealing half of Hermann’s sandwich—which ultimately led to a mutual and spur of the moment decision to dissolve the whole weird lab partners-with-benefits thing they had going on—was one of the more uncomfortable experiences of his career. Still, he made as nice as he could, because his supply of work gloves and Keurig pods were running dangerously low and he didn’t feel like shelling out the money from his own abysmally small paycheck for any.

He doesn’t know what was so significant about the other one they went to though, the one last August. It was humid. Newt remembers being so hot he had to take off his tie, and he lost it somewhere in the convention center afterwards. He misses that tie. Hermann hated it, which makes him culprit number one in its disappearance.

“We drew in significantly more donations in August than we did two months ago,” Hermann says, and opens the top drawer of his desk to produce a neat stack of papers, which he spreads in front of Newt to reveal a series of color-coded spreadsheets.

Newt’s eyes glaze over a little at the sight. He doesn’t bother extending the effort to confirm Hermann’s data—as much as he hates to admit it, the guy is thorough with his numbers and rarely wrong about stuff like this. He flips through it anyway to appease him. And, honestly, he thinks Hermann’s feelings would be hurt if he didn’t, and Newt really is committed to being a good labmate (y’know, for the very brief time being). “And prior to August,” Hermann continues, “you’ll note that the average sum total of donations we received per event was significantly lower. August was an anomaly.”

“Sure,” Newt says. “So what?”

Hermann slides the spreadsheet back into his desk, pulls his dorky glasses off, and exhales slowly: he’s getting to the point. Newt has a hunch what that point might be, but Hermann always looks funny when he gets into lecture mode, and Newt doesn’t want to interrupt it.

“I believe,” Hermann says, “that our—relationship status, which was significantly different on that occasion as compared to the rest—might possibly have had no small influence, for one reason or another. We certainly behaved more, er, affectionately, or tenderly around each other, and perhaps others took note and found it charming. Or some such thing. Of course I can't draw any conclusions from a single point of data, but I believe if we were to... Well, it's a bit silly, hearing myself now.”

“You want me to be your fake b-f so we can trick people into giving a shit about us and shake them down easier,” Newt says.

The tips of Hermann’s generous ears go red. “I’m aware it’s an unusual request,” he says, “especially considering… recent certain developments in our working relationship.”

It’s not exactly the fun platonic bonding time Newt anticipated, but he has a hunch Hermann might be on to something—the whole doomed romance, give us money so our love has a fighting chance of surviving the apocalypse thing, which they were apparently already inadvertently playing up. He’s willing to give it a shot. Making a joke out of it might actually help Newt let go of his last lingering nostalgia for that super brief period of time he and Hermann got up to after-hours hijinks and were almost amicable with each other. And, you know, on the other hand, if that doesn’t work, he could totally do the opposite of moving on and revel in the opportunity to do couple-y tender things with Hermann again.

“Yeah, sure,” Newt says. Real chill about it. He’s so chill, man.

Hermann blinks at him owlishly, clearly taken aback, but says nothing.

“It’ll be fun,” Newt adds. “It’s a good plan, great idea, it’ll totally work. Nothing has to be weird, right? I mean, it’s not like we were really even dating before or anything. There’s no reason for it to be weird. It’s definitely not for me. Is it for you?”

“No, er, of course not,” Hermann says. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

They’re totally over each other, but they can also totally pretend they’re not for a night or two, no sweat. “Cool,” Newt says, and repeats, maybe to convince himself, “It’ll be fun. We can dress up all fancy and wear matching ties or something and talk about how tragic we are. I’ll grab your ass in front of people and you can brag about how cool and smart and sexy I am.”

“You are not doing that,” Hermann says, “and I am not doing that. When have I ever—oh, nevermind. I am not averse to the neckties, however, especially if it means you’re at least attempting to look somewhat professional for our prospective—”

“Dude, come on, you totally just think I look hot in a suit.”

The splotchy red flush spreads from Hermann’s ears to his neck as he scowls at Newt. He doesn’t bother denying it: Newt’s sure they both vividly remember the most recent annual k-science research symposium when Newt finally let himself be talked into renting a fancy blazer, to look, uh, like the expert in your field you are, Newton, and Hermann had such a hard time keeping his hands off Newt in increasingly unchaste ways that they had to duck out early. I like when you look put-together and competent, Hermann said, or something along those lines, there was a lot of kissing going on and Newt wasn’t exactly paying attention to specifics. He ended up losing the deposit on the suit—which is why he stole the sandwich in the first place, actually. Very petty revenge. Full circle.

“Piss off,” Hermann grumbles.

“We’re gonna have to put in for just one hotel room if we wanna sell it, you know,” Newt says, the realization suddenly hitting him. “Maybe even one bed. It’ll look totally suspicious if we don’t, right?”

Hermann meets his eyes for a few awkward, quiet seconds, and then they both quickly look away from each other. Newt stands up and makes a show of gathering their untouched mugs, both of which have gone extremely cold. Hermann slips his glasses back on and opens up his desk drawer to shuffle through his immaculate spreadsheets again, pretending to look for errors that they both know aren't there.

“We’ve,” Hermann finally says, and then clears his throat. “We’ve survived worse. I'm sure we can manage. It’s only for two nights, after all.”

“Yeah, totally,” Newt says.

[jungle-angel]

The Students Become The Masters (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: D'Nadi clearly made a mistake picking on you and Cal and your students couldn't have made it clearer than that

Tagging: @floydsmuse

Warnings: Pregnancy, D'Nadi being an asshole etc.

Calvin re-emerged from the kitchen with a hot mug of homemade tea to help calm your nerves. God it had been a day. Never in his life had Calvin seen you so upset about D'Nadi approaching you and not giving you a reason as to why you had been sent home from the college. He had felt terrible about cancelling his other classes for the rest of the day, but he knew that you needed him now more than ever.

"C'mere love," he said, gently lifting your tired head into his lap.

You sniffed a little as the tears stung your eyes. "God I hate D'Nadi," you croaked.

"I know, I do too sweetheart," Calvin said, running his fingers through your hair. "Try not to stress so much. I don't want anything to happen to you or the baby."

"I know," you croaked again. "I have an appointment at the teaching hospital tomorrow."

You snuggled into Calvin, a little too tired to drink the tea he had made, until he had finally convinced you to drink just a little. His hand trailed to your now noticeable bump, gently caressing the little life that grew within. A knock at the front door had startled you both and threw Six-Thirty into a barking fit until Calvin shooed him back to his bed near the fireplace. When Calvin opened the front door, he was a little surprised to find Father McDowell standing there on the front porch.

"Sorry to be disturbin ya laddy," he apologized. "I know it's late and you and the missus are probably settlin in fer bed."

"It's alright Padre," Calvin said. "Just a bit of a rough day is all."

"Ah so I can tell," Father McDowell said, seating himself in the old wingback near the living room window. "How are ye (y/n)? Still feelin a little blue are ye?"

You nodded.

Father McDowell sighed as Six-Thirty put his paws up on the chair arm, the priest gladly letting him have a few scritches. "Tis a damn shame we ain't back in Cork," he said. "If he'd have been attendin me old boardin school, the nuns would've lashed'em so hard he wouldn't be able to sit for at least a week."

You and Cal both chuckled a little. Despite his salty nature, Father McDowell's presence was always welcome at times like these as well as his rather twisted sense of humor.

"One way or another m'lamb, ye'll get through it," he assured you, lighting his pipe. "All will be right with the world......somehow."

And you and Calvin had hoped so.

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

Dark night had fallen over the college campus, but that didn't mean the halls were dead. No, they remained brightly lit, the rushed footsteps of students feet on the tile and parquet floors, hurrying to an out of order bathroom at the very end of the hall.

Two students, one of Father McDowell's theology students and his girlfriend, knocked on the door of the bathroom which was promptly opened by Sandy Levenstein, one of your assistants in the classroom.

"You two here from the Padre?" she asked.

"Yep," the young man answered.

"Get in," Sandy told them.

The bathroom was crowded with students and TAs alike, everyone packed elbows to assholes in that small little room from all walks of the campus life, bookworms, jocks, exchange students, chemistry majors, nursing majors, art and art history majors and everyone and anyone in between.

"Alright, you wanna take this Mei? Or should I?" Sandy asked from her perch on top of the garbage can.

"I'll do it," Mei told her. "Marshall? Wanna gimme a hand?"

"Hell yeah honey!" he answered, hoisting Mei up onto his big shoulders.

Mei began pounding on a metal garbage can lid with her Nainai's wooden cooking spoon. "ALRIGHT EVERYBODY SHUT UP FOR TWO SECONDS!!!!"

She waited until the whole room fell silent before speaking again. "Alright, now that I've got your undivided attention," she said. "Marsh, you can put me down now, thank you."

Marshall lowered her down to the floor, letting Mei stand amongst the eager to listen crowd.

"It seems to me that some foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach, had a bone to pick with our dearly beloved professors," Mei explained. "So I ask you, good people of this university.......what the hell are we gonna do about it? Are we gonna stand by and watch him pick on them again?"

"HELL NO!" everyone exclaimed.

"Are we gonna stand for this shit?" Mei asked.

"HELL NO!!"

"Are we gonna let that slimy little schlemiel get away with it?!" Sandy declared.

"HELL NO!!!!"

"I don't care how any of you have to do it," Mei told the crowd. "I don't care how long it takes, what methods you have to use, orthodox or not as long as it's within legal means.........but all of you, get out there and show the little cockroach who really runs this place!"

The crowd in the bathroom cheered, high-fiving and slapping the overhang of the door on their way out.

"You think this is gonna work?" Sandy asked.

"It's worth a shot," Mei laughed.

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

Calvin was in his office, working on the grant proposal for the college's chemistry program, the typewriter clicking away as Six-Thirty came back with a note from the college president. It had been almost a week since D'Nadi had pulled his little stunt, the both of you worried sick about work and how things would turn out. Calvin was an anxious mess as he opened the letter and read it, but relieved beyond words when he saw the response.

Dear Professor Evans,

I apologize for this being so late in coming, but I wanted to let you know personally that you and your wife will continue to teach at this establishment. I will allow her full benefits and time for when the baby is born and you as well. Give my best to (y/n) and we look forward to seeing her when she returns.

Regards,

William B. Hayes III, University President

Calvin was relieved and knew that you would be too. He shoved the letter into one of the pockets inside his briefcase, eager to show you when he got home, when the quiet in his office was suddenly broken by a knock at the door.

"I'm not to be disturbed!" He warned loudly.

"Doc it's me! It's Marshall!" answered a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Cal quickly rose from his desk chair and opened the door. Marshall Ray Thomas, Eugene Walsh, Cindy Bianchi and Sylvia Patton, all students of his and yours, entered his office, each with a cheeky grin on their faces.

"What did you idiots do?" Calvin asked, suspicious of the reason for their visit.

"Oh ya'll are gonna wanna see this," Marshall laughed, handing Calvin a stack of polaroids.

Calvin flipped through each and every one, his eyes bugging at a few, particularly of one where D'Nadi had been strapped to the surgical gurney in one of the nursing classrooms, the students all surrounding him wearing surgical gear and wielding the tools as though they were in a horror movie.

"Jeebus fuck!" Calvin chuckled, going bug-eyed.

"Oh, wait until you see the ones we took in the chemistry labs," Eugene chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "Sonny Ortega had fun with that one."

Calvin had to stifle a laugh when he saw it. Eugene hadn't been lying, seeing as he and Sonny had been cohorts from day one. What Cal hadn't been expecting was a full recreation of the lab scene in "Frankenstein" and the photographic evidence that had come with it.

"Oh my God," he laughed. "This is just.......wow."

A collective cheer and the chanting of students and teachers alike, soon reached Calvin's ears. Marshall, Eugene, Cindy and Sylvia made their way into the hall where the entire faculty seemed to be chanting "walk of shame" and clapping as loud as they could. Calvin caught sight of a sneering and sulking D'Nadi carrying a box of his things out of his office as the students and faculty kept it up, including Mrs. Petty, the elderly receptionist, who hated D'Nadi with every fiber of her being.

Calvin couldn't help the broad grin that was beginning to crawl across his face, especially when Dr. Powers and Professor Broussard clapped their firm hands on each of his shoulders.

"Mon amie," Professor Broussard said to him. "It seems justice has been served on your behalf."

Calvin laughed as he joined in, everyone cheering loudly when D'Nadi rounded the corner, never to be seen or heard from at the college again.

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

You laughed as you went through the polaroids again with Calvin as soon as he got home, relieved that you still had your job at the college.

"So wait, tell me again," you laughed. "They seriously did that in the nursing classroom?"

"Photo evidence is right there," Calvin answered.

You snorted when you saw it. "Oh my God what are we gonna do with them?"

"Who knows my love?" Calvin said, kissing your forehead.

You couldn't have been happier than at that moment.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

put me back in (i would do it again)

or; re-visiting old ghosts

more wcbah here (not mandatory to read other parts. doesn’t necessarily follow the timeline either so)

TW: cursing, mention of past abuse, PTSD, bad coping skills, mention of alcohol/alcoholism (not charlie or r)

For a long time, the street was forbidden.

like some kind of imaginary barrier forbid you from crossing that section of the street, some physical force putting a hand against your chest and forcing you to stop, to reevaluate, to think this through

usually it comes in the form of charlie.

for awhile, a mystery problem would come up; the pain that radiates down his leg that only seems to come up when close to this block would flare up, the sky would turn darker and charlie would insist it was time to come home, promising a warm mug of tea.

charlie could tell the hesitation.

his hand tangled in yours, he’s whistling as his head is up, looking high into the trees, the reds and greens and purples that only a midwest fall can promise you.

they get to the stop sign. you wait for charlie to open his mouth, to come up with an excuse, to fake an injury.

instead, he squeezes your hand: “i think the Marshall’s put their boat up last week, finally. I was working on their pier-“

your breathing is as timed as the beating in your chest. charlie is obviously making small talk, trying to make this less frightening-as if you hadn’t tossed and turned and lost sleep over this house and the monsters that roamed the too small four walls.

charlie’s grip on your hand tightens as the old house comes into view. you aren’t sure if it’s for your benefit or his. his voice never wavers, and he’s talking nonsense, just talking to be able to talk, but it’s comforting.

“fuck.”

the for sale sign creeks as it flips in the wind.

the house is just as you left it; the peeling paint, the mailbox on the ground. it’s like you and charlie never existed, never made it out, never did anything, ghosts dancing on the lawn between the houses.

you only realize charlie let go of your hand when you feel the empty space.

“charlie.”

your voice is harsher than it needs to be, and your whispering, which is unnecessary as everyone is gone, ghosts don’t haunt this part of town anymore.

“cmon. just want to see.”

leaves crumble under his boots and he kicks some away as if for confirmation, seeing his and yours initials in the old pavement by the mailbox, as if the nightmares aren’t enough to confirm this is the place.

“charlie!”

your practically yelling but he can’t hear you as he walks towards the door, his fingers linger behind as he traces over the peeling paint of the house, how some chips and gets stuck under his nails, how he’ll carry that with him

“do you think the lock is still broken?”

his hand rests on the door.

“shouldn’t we let the dead rest?”

it’s heavy in the air, because no one’s actually dead-you both just wish, most of the time. this house has seen it all, you’ve both seen it all, and it would only make sense.

his hand rests on the door handle before a gust of wind makes something in the front fall over.

you and charlie race back home, feet flying you to your sanctuary breathless as charlie yells, “go, go, go.”

charlie waits a few days to bring it up.

dark bags are under his eyes. he’s back to not sleeping-most nights you find his place in the bed cold, grabbing an old shirt of his off the floor as you walk downstairs in search of him.

“i was thinking.” he says carefully a few days later. he’s talking to his plate, his head ducked and he’s the nervous boy you grew up with again, always saying the wrong thing, always in the way.

“hm?”

it’s a half committed response, flipping through a newspaper you borrowed from the neighbor. they’re gone for the fall, but can afford to leave the subscription going, the least of their problems, so it continues.

“your old house,” he says, making your head whip up, “we could buy it.”

your hand grips the nightgown you’re wearing.

“charlie.”

“make it a home,” he says, using his knuckle to push his glasses up his face. they’re still broken, lean towards the left, “i already called. we can set up a meeting.”

“make it a home.” you repeat, “charlie, we got scared by the wind-“

“i won’t be scared,” he shakes his head, “not with you there. go with me?”

his voice drops and it almost sounds like begging, on the verge of tears.

“please.”

the days to the visit crawl and run at the same time. you find yourself busy with projects that aren’t necessary: raking the same leaves, watering half dead flowers-charlie takes the time off from the small projects he makes himself busy with around town, doesn’t leave your side.

it feels like a death march.

guilt and dread gnaws at your stomach, rips through you-but charlie is humming, smiling, as he walks hand in hand to a place you both memorized.

“and this here is the kitchen-“

it’s weird, having a stranger show you a house you grew up in. can see the marks on the wall by the stairs where charlie would mark how tall he was in comparison to you, the creaking stairs with the railing that falls if you grip it too hard-the sink that still leaks-

how the realtor would constantly be trying to get you two back on this tour, finding something to try and make this house appetizing

the stairs creak and groan as you follow upstairs, bow you hesitate until charlie steps in front, puts one foot in front of the other and offers his hand:

“i got us.”

the twin sized bed in the bedroom right off the stairs, that charlie never truly fit into, the nights he’d practically roll off the bed. the windows that creeked with the wind, flooded in the fall-

the first night is spent in the too small room. charlie insisted he could throw the twin sized mattress in the trash, buy a new mattress in a few weeks, that the pillows and blankets on the floor would be like a sleepover when you both were kids and the shadows scared you still, chased you to his front door.

you sit on the edge of the mattress as charlie walks around the room, his fingers trialing behind everything.

kelly, the realtor, has long given up. said to meet her downstairs when you’re both done, to give you space, explore the “rich history of the house.” you and charlie both hold in the laughs.

hands are shaken and papers are signed that day.

the move doesn’t take long; you both don’t own much and charlie keeps falling this a fresh start, trying to throw away anything that feels wrong. insists this time will be different, that he’ll make this right.

during the day, the house doesn’t seem too nefarious. you’re able to wash dishes at the sink, charlie hammers at the stair case, a cracking radio in the back-it feels like the house on the hill, for most of the day.

until night falls. shadows creep and bolt as you make your way around the house, hand in hand with charlie, even for the restroom. anxiety rips at your throat. but every time you look at charlie, he’s smiling. it’s all teeth, a genuine smile you haven’t seen in awhile, and his voice is low, borders on a hum as he talks:

“we’ll get it right, this time.”

charlie wakes you up from the floor. the front room doesn’t have much; spent most of the day dreaming up where things could go-a television, eventually, a small couch-charlie had a hand full of your paintings he insisted you brought with, spent the day with an arm full of them-holding them against the walls, tilting his head, trying to get it right-a nail between his teeth until he found the perfect place-marks the spot.

you were hoping to get away with it, sleeping in the front room. it was like before, when exhaustion finally took over and you two passed out wherever you could, only until the other woke you up, marched upstairs.

instead, you crawl into the twin sized mattress, back against the wall. it’s scary for only a moment-suddenly you’re a kid holding your breath waiting for your father to come home again-

until-

until

charlie slides into the mattress. it creeks and dips wit him but your hand is tangled in his against his chest and you can feel the steady beat from his chest to talk you off the ledge.

“tell me a story.”

charlie laughs from behind you. it gets captured in the too small room, makes itself louder. you imagine it chases away the ghosts that hide and peak and linger behind the doors

“i think i’m all out of stories, honey.”

“one more,” you’re all but begging, “for old times sake.”

this time, he isn’t drowning out noises. not the refrigerator slamming shut and the sound of a bottle cap hitting aluminum floor. the yelling, the “i’ll find you. you know i will.” charlie’s lips don’t need to be pressed against your ear to be the only sound you hear now. you’re a kid and you believe in princess’ and far away lands and happy endings again-

“once upon a time,” charlie drawls, “in a place far, far away-“

when you wake up, the sun is shining through the windows and you can hear the waves being chased to the shore, crash, build themselves up again

the spot where charlie laid is cold. you can smell coffee in the air, and the radio cracks downstairs.

he’s smiling, as you walk downstairs. a handful of nails again, but the sink isn’t leaking anymore, can’t hear the drip drip drip that you swore would drive you insane.

“morning, honey.” charlie smiles in the home he made, “made you coffee. figured we could get started outside today-“

and as you curl up next to him, the cup of coffee burning your hand, you’re home.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Know Your Place 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

The noise all around has you reeling. You’re not used to so many people. So many voices and smells and sights. The frantic action of it all reminds you of a mid-00s movie about a high school. The coeds are like animals milling about in groups with the odd single body rushing between with a mission stitched between their brows. 

You sit with your thermos of tea and try to focus on your schedule. You have a campus map from the Student Support Centre next to it, trying to map out your route for each day. Momma said you should try to get ahead, figure out where you’re going. She’s always right. 

You have two classes that day. As you find the buildings on the map, planting a finger on each, you find that they are on completely different ends of the campus. Of course. Well, momma didn’t know that where they would be, did she? She said you have to balance your load; if you’re going to be an English major, make sure you take some math and science for your electives. 

You circle the two buildings and put lets beside them denoting which day you need to be there, numbering them in the order the classes occur. A burst of laughter breaks your concentration and you look around, trying to find the source. You almost miss the calm isolation of your childhood living room. 

No, you’re grown now and you begged Momma to let you go to college. Not online, but in person. You even worked all summer at the deli so you could live in a dorm. She was proud but worried. She’s never been good at letting go. She’s already called three times today and it’s not even noon. 

As the crowd blurs around you, a sudden gust blows over the table as someone sits across from you. You stare back at them with a gasp. They must’ve mistaken you for someone else. You blink as the man tugs on the front of his letterman jacket and smiles. He doesn’t seem mistaken. 

“Hey,” he leans forward on an elbow, “you waitin’ for someone? Got some cute girlfriends on their way?” 

He’s so forward, he has your brows as high as they can go and your cheeks are on fire. It’s not much of an introduction. 

“Excuse me?” You eke out. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, hon, I’m getting ahead of myself,” he smirks as he crosses both his arms on the table. “I’m Colin. You looked lonely.” 

“Oh, uh, I’m just... figuring out my schedule,” you utter dumbly. Yor brain isn’t clicking. Why is he talking to you? 

Your ears tweak and you notice a group in similar jackets, sitting just across the dining area, gabbing loudly, snickering. You wonder why he isn’t over there with them. You wiggle your pen anxiously. 

“Ah, you’re not gonna give me a name for that pretty face?” He says. 

“Huh?” Your brows drop, “what?” 

Your momma’s voice echoes in your head. ‘Be careful of those college boys. They only want one thing.’ You didn’t believe her. They don’t want that from you. You were sure once you saw the other girls in their tight leggings and short tops. 

“Your name, baby? Gotta be something sweet, huh?” 

Your face ripples as you wade through surprise, confusion, then something else. You’re almost giddy. This man, with his mussed blond hair and bright blue eyes, and his chiseled features, is asking you your name. It’s flattering. 

“Mauve,” you can’t help but smile as you answer. 

“Oh, yeah? That’s pretty, well, Mauve,” he takes out his phone, “me and my buddies are having a party tonight and we’re supposed to find a hottie to bring with us. I’m having no luck but if I show up alone, well... I might not get to stay in the frat. You get it?” 

You stare at him. You're confused. You don’t really understand frats and whatnot. They just seem like clubs people join so they can drink. 

“You wanna do me a favour? Come with me?” He asks. 

He’s bold. Bolder than any one you’ve ever met. You sputter but can’t come up with any words. 

“Please,” he pouts, “promise, I won’t try anything, I just gotta get these guys off my back.” 

He looks over his shoulder at the table of rowdy guys. You squirm in your seat, uncertain. You’ve never been to a party. Wow. 

“Here, I’ll get your number,” he taps on his phone screen, “I’ll send you the details--” 

“Leave her alone,” a grizzly voice undercuts the frat across from you. 

A thick man stands behind him. He has a cardboard cup in his hand as he glares down at the coed. His burly figure is swathed in a dark green sweater and grey slacks. He’s older and his dark curls are threaded with subtle twinkles of silver. 

“Huh? Who the hell are you?” 

“Why don’t you show her those pictures you were snapping of her? The ones you and your pals were laughing about?” The other man growls.  

You frown. What? You don’t understand what’s going on. You look from one to the other. The younger man sat across from your sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck it. Whatever. Lots of pigs to go around,” he shakes his head and stands, facing the other man. “You know, bro, just cause you’re too old to get with any ass around here, doesn’t mean you gotta ruin it for others.” 

“Get out of here,” the thicker man snarls. The other winces just slightly before puffing up his chest and stomping away. 

You remain as you are, aghast and lost. The man with the dark curls looks at you. You shrug at him. 

“I’m sorry, sir, did I do something wrong?” You ask. 

The harsh angles of his scowl ease and he lets out a long breath, “uh, no, not you. That boy, you know, any one that wears one of those jackets, they’re no good. Just some advice.” 

“Oh, right,” you look over at that guy, Colin, “sorry, I didn’t know. He just started talking to me. I was being polite.” 

“Seem like a nice girl. Just tryna look out for you.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” you chew your lip and sniff. “Are you... are you teacher?” 

“I’m a professor,” he confirms as he holds his cup close to his chest. He's one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen. And his eyes are as blue as the ocean. “Professor Marshall but unless you’re a psych student, you can call me Walter.” 

“Walter? My neighbour is Walter. At home. He’s eighty-one and he collects baseball cards,” you let yourself smile. You always felt more comfortable around older people. You never had many friends your own age. 

“Don’t mind some baseball myself,” he dips his chin. “Well, you look out for yourself and avoid the Greeks.” 

“Greeks?” You make a face. 

“Fraternities,” he says. “And sororities, if you can help it.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you, sir,” you feel a little better. You think he’s right and he is a professor. He would know. “I’ll do that.” 

“Sir? It’s Walter,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, sorry, Walter,” you smile. “I’m Mauve.” 

He nods and shifts his cup, “Mauve,” he repeats, “well, nice to meet you.” 

“You too, sir, er, Walter. Thank you,” you say. 

He hesitates then steps back on his heel, “yeah, no problem.” 

He slowly retreats and you watch him, your heart playing like a drum. You did it. You spoke to strangers and you didn’t melt. Things are getting easier. If you could get through that, you’re sure you’ll make lots of friends in your classes. 

[sergeantgoggles]

I have another!

🤍 for Cody/ Kix

Sorry it took so long! I'm getting to everything in my askbox slowly, I promise!

Anyway, 🤍 kiss at the wedding / milestone.

This is maybe a little less what we were going for, but I was really feeling this scenario and ran with it. (Don't worry, there's still smooches, lmao!)

“It is tradition that the bride’s father walks her down the aisle,” General Obi-Wan Kenobi said wistfully over the rim of his teacup and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“Not to point out the obvious, General, but I don’t think either of us would be considered a bride,” Commander Cody countered over his own cup. “Not to mention, we’re clones, Sir. We don’t exactly have parents.”

He trailed off, staring into his black tea and thinking he might like it with more milk. “The closest any of us really came to having someone to fall back on is maybe a commanding officer, or our Generals.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Do you consider me a father figure, Cody?”

Cody chuckled off his quickly rising blush and poured a generous amount of milk into the tea before tasting it again. Good, but it needed something else. Honey, perhaps. “I…perhaps, in a sense. You were a better role model than the Kaminoans, if nothing else, but I don’t think General Skywalker is father material, if you catch my drift.”

The General laughed, setting his cup down and sliding the honey over to his Commander. “I see what you mean. Perhaps not, but if asked, he would do it with enthusiasm.”

Shaking his head, Cody took the honey, and again, used a generous amount to sweeten it. “I don’t doubt that, but I don’t see that it’s necessary for this. We clones are far from traditional in most cases.”

“Be that as it may, I know Kix. He may be a level head in the field or on duty, but he likes to be as integrated as possible in his surroundings,” Obi-Wan commented and sat back in his seat, crossing his arms. “The war is over, Cody. Clone rights are being fought for in the Senate as we speak, with Senator Chuchi heading the campaign. She is young, but I believe with enough support, there will be tremendous compensation for the men, including you and Kix. He’ll want a home, I’m sure. Somewhere to settle down and learn who you are outside of the war wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

Cody sighed, nodding. “I know, and he does, and it’s what he deserves.”

“What you both deserve,” Obi-Wan corrected. “You both fought in the war, and you both made it out. A wedding is something to celebrate. Whatever the two of you decide, I want you to know that you will have mine and Anakin’s full support, as your former Generals, and as friends.”

A bright smile tugged on Cody’s lips, both from Obi-Wan’s words and finding the perfect mix of milk and honey to make this tea perfect. He was right, after all. Kix would want to follow at least some of the traditions of a nat-born wedding. Maybe General Skywalker wasn’t the best choice, but…

.

“Walk him…down the aisle?”

“It’s a nat-born tradition,” Cody explained. “Like, someone who cares about him is trusting him to another to take care of him.”

Across from Cody, Rex smirked. “I already trusted you with him, and here you are, days from your wedding. You made sure he made it to the end of the war.”

Cody shook his head. “I did what I could when we were stationed together, but he was in Torrent Company, Rex. He is one of yours. You kept him safe when I couldn’t.”

A moment of silence passed between them. The same couldn’t be said for some of their men, but they’d done their best over the years. After barely any more consideration, Rex sighed.

“Yeah, of course I will, if that’s what he wants.”

.

Being the Marshal Commander came with perks. For starters, his General was Obi-Wan Kenobi, the master negotiator who had a way with words that allowed their ceremony to take place just outside the Jedi temple. The veranda was full of men from both battalions, and several star cruisers hovered nearby to get an overhead view.

The only view that mattered, however, was the vision of Kix in a tailored white jacket and fitted collared shirt, a cobalt blue tie, and white dress slacks. His lightning bolts were freshly shorn into his hair, and Rex stood proudly beside him, arms hooked together as he escorted his soon-to-be husband down the path with 212th and 501st men on either side.

“Nervous?” Obi-Wan asked, grinning ear to ear at his Commander as he bounced on his heels. It was rare that Cody was so excited for anything that wasn’t fisticuffs with a battle droid, but Kix just seemed to bring out a side of him that so few got to see. They locked eyes, and suddenly Kix was all he could see. Kix was everything. His past, present, and future were all in the hands of the man that was smiling back at him as he approached.

“To be honest, General, I’ve never felt more alive.”

As Kix and Rex came to a stop beside him, Rex grinned at his Chief Medical Officer and hugged him tightly before turning to Cody and doing the same.

“I did my duty,” Rex whispered with a smile. “Now, it’s your turn. Keep him safe.”

“I promise,” Cody whispered back, and held Rex a second longer before letting him join the rest of his rowdy group right in front.

Kix’s cheeks were painted a gorgeous shade of red that looked stunning against the blue accents on him, and Cody couldn’t help himself. Obi-Wan had said that, traditionally, you had to exchange vows before you kissed your bride, but Kix was no bride, and well, maybe clones needed to make a tradition of their own.

Strong arms pulled Kix flush, and their lips met with a surge of excitement and passion that could have electrified an entire battalion of droids. Finally, it all had come down to this point in time, this moment, this kiss. He felt Kix laugh into his mouth, but not pull away.

Whatever happened from this day on, as long as he had Kix, he could take on the entire galaxy a hundred times over.

[rebelrayne]

what my husband thinks of the casa amor boys (plus toby as a bonus)

Under the cut

Andy

His earring looks like a little fucking handsaw. He has a handsaw on his ear. Who told him to stand like that? His 12 year old sister? Looks like one of those awkward guys that says “what do I do with my hands?” The way he holds his feet, he probably has a foot fetish. You could almost miss his nipples cause they’re not a natural color. He’s got a weird bump on his foot. And his left foot is way fatter than his right foot. What the fuck? He has a size 13 one foot and 9 on the other. What the fuck it looks like he’s wearing a ring on his left hand??? He’s a bottom. A sub bottom. Like a very submissive bottom. He looks like he has daddy issues. If you stan Andy, I will laugh at you and not take you seriously. Anything you say is not canon. Between him and Francis, they should be the most hated. I almost hate him as much as I hate Lewie. Probably has tea parties with stuffed animals. They call him “sir short stick”.

Francis

He looks like the fucking guy from ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’ like the one that Sarah Marshall goes to Hawaii with. Does he go to the hair stylist 3 times a week to get his color right? No, that’s not a real beard he drew it on. Did he steal his grandma’s coat and sandals??? AND BRACELET??? Oh my God, JESS! He’s got a small hand like the guy from scary movie- “grab my strong hand!!” Looks like he’s into paranormal shit like he’s a ghost chaser. The AI did a fucking terrible job, it tried to mix scary movie small hand guy, a grandma and Russell Brand. I can’t tell if he had a belly button. Is he an alien??? This guy creeps me out. And his posture- just the way he holds himself. He’s creepy. He’s a version of Joe Goldberg that stole his grandmas sweater that’s his undercover outfit. The sweater is literally his baseball cap. Is that enough? Or should I keep going about his grandmas sandals she got during 1 AD? Those sandals saw Jesus they were there on resurrection day. Practices celibacy as a religion. If he was born in Spartan times, they would throw him to the wolves or over a cliff. I kind of wanna spartan kick him myself. See a special meme made by Jessie’s husband below:

Hamish

That’s fucking Tom 2.0 mixed with Zac Efron. He looks like he came out of fucking Baywatch. Been staring at Pamela Anderson’s tits. Got a knock-off Rolex. Not much to make fun of- this guy seems mostly normal. He doesn’t have any qualities I can laugh at. Even his posture and how he holds his hands is manly. Looks like he’s ready to punch Lewie in his asshole lips. I brought up he has small feet and he defended him. He has an average size dick, probably like 5.5 inches. He’s the guy everyone should want to get (unless he is a closet asshole). But even then, there’s a binary code of how much of an asshole he can be. He looks like he has a Christian Grey mentality. Probably has a red room and it’s hidden. Fuck now there will be fanfics of him doing BDSM… his nickname would be “Lord Ladies Man”. JESSIE’S HUSBAND STAMP OF APPROVAL - first and only one this season.

Marshall

Starts laughing that he has a butterfly on his chest. Why did he get a tramp stamp on his chest?? These tattoos are almost as bad as Will’s. Captain Jack Sparrow if he was a hipster. Most definitely swings both ways. I want to cut off his manbun when he’s sleeping… like half these tattoos don’t make any sense. He probably has shorty tattooed on his dick and it probably still says shorty when it’s erect. At least his chin isn’t square like Ozzy’s. This guy is weird looking and his tattoos give me the heebie jeebies. He’s a fucking dumpster rat. He’d be the king’s jester and wear clown makeup. Tries to juggle three balls- can’t find them. He looks like he enjoys his venti Starbucks drinks: “Can you froth the milk please sir?” Looks homeless, searches the road for pennys or whatever British cheap change is. Probably has OnlyFans for his feet.

BONUS: Toby

He literally looks like the kind of guy that is used as the main character in the game— he looks like a default setting lol he’s a random fucking palette. Looks like Vin Diesel’s baby brother I’m going to call him baby diesel. Why are his arms so short? At least he didn’t skip leg day. If you chopped off his head, he’d look like the perfect speciman of a man. Head looks like it should be on a crackheads. It’s small. Looks like he should be on prison break. Surprised he has no tattoos - looks like he’s been to prison a few times. Kind of sad he’s the last one… I wish Francis was the last one instead. Toby’s skin tone is off… his color is different from his head to feet. The AI said “lol not my fucking problem.” It said “make perfect man body with generic ass head.” Bro is gonna be NPC for life. (“You sound like Elliot” “shut the fuck up”). He’s so bland they gave him white swim shorts.

A/N to my fans: I love you degenerates. I work very hard at this to entertain and give you guys a full insight to what these characters really are. I appreciate your constant gratitude and thank you for allowing me to be your roast king. All other attempts are failures and they can come find me if they have something to say. I hope you all read this and then go back to read it again because it makes you happy. That is all.

PS: the AI really helped with these roasts this season because the character designs sucked. They made it very easy for me. I’d also really like to thank my top supporter, @caitkaminski . She’s been a fan for a long time (Apparently I am not a supporter). Here’s to next season. I will miss doing these til then. In the wise words of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, aka Maui: “You’re welcome.”

[jollyhaunt]

codywan order 66 except the GAR identifies the chips early so they must work discreetly and slowly to deactivate the inhibitors, pushing cody into telling obi-wan to "stop him by any means necessary", which translates to "if i'm not myself, i want it to be you to put me down"

the tension amongst the troopers and jedi as they are unsure of when the chips will be activated. they're still trying to figure out who will be the one to activate them, and because of all this uncertainty, every move is to be taken with caution.

any moment the troopers can turn. distance is attempted among the troops and jedi, the men thinking it's too much of a risk bc they don't know what they will be capable of when if the chips are activated. the jedi have none of that, they will figure this out together.

cody is still reluctant to be anywhere near the jedi, most especially obi-wan. he knows of his rank, why he is the marshal commander of the 3rd system army. he knows how much power it takes to take down a droid army; how much power to put behind a punch to cause permanent damage; how much a cup of blood can sting when it is spilling between his fingers bc he was just a second too late from saving a vod.

but he also knows obi-wan—that his general is faithful, kind enough for a war, that though his saber can cut through anything, it is his tongue that you should brace for the strike.

and so when they're alone one night after a sorting through reports and humming over cups of tea and caf, cody sets down his pad and displays his everlasting trust in his jedi.

and the cody's chip does get activated one day at the worst time possible when it's just him and obi-wan alone and it's not even a slow thing. it's almost swift, this change, the crying in the force that something is terribly wrong, but obi-wan still hears—feels cody resist and his cry for obi-wan to do his part. he barely had time to deflect cody's blaster before cc-2224 is on him, his trusted knife in hand, blaster in the other bc cc-2224 knows cody's jedi—he knows what he can do and how to chip at his weaknesses and play with them to make sure success is clean and precise.

they fight.

it's the first time obi-wan breaks a promise.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Can you tell us how the tea-time talk between Regis and Epistéme went? Because I can't imagine she would tell him anything about Galahdian history. And he would absolutely notice that.

The first time Episéme gets the letter, she doesn't even notice. In Lucis she never gets letters that aren't bills, and she knows when they are due. The University simply sends her e-mails that always land in her spam folder, probably in the hopes that she won't show up to whatever they had to invite her to. Well, joke's on them. Genis has the will of a wet paper bag and will tell her when something his coming up, should she ask.

Anyway. Point is, Episéme doesn't check her letterbox nearly as much as she probably should, and neither do her cousins. So she doesn't get the first letter. But oh spirits, does she get the second one.

It's early in the morning. It's cold - well, it's the second Shivata, so that's a given - and she's home. Her cousins thankfully have all gone out to work their own jobs, so Epistéme has the apartment to herself. Papers are strewn all over the couch she's lounging on with a mug of her stongest tea. That stuff is better than any coffee, no matter what those heathens at the university say.

She's supposed to be grading papers, but it's going slowly and in her tiny office she would be constantly interrupted, so she's here when the doorbell rings.

Epistéme nearly spills her tea in surprise. "Fohn," she mutters under her breath. So much for no interruptions.

The doorbell rings again.

"Scha, scha, tila!" she calls.

On her way to the door she nearly stumbles over drawing supplies scattered across the floor. Someone - yes, looking at you Atana - must have left them lying around.

Epistéme fumbles with the door handle - that old thing will break on them one of these days, mark her words - and finally manages to open the door. It takes her a few seconds too long to register the black uniform.

"Episteme Arra?"

In response Episéme slams the door shut in the Lord Marshal's face.

By the spirits. What does he want from her? Had she done something? Had one of those noble snobs at the university finally called the 'Guard on her? Wait, could they even do that? Wait, no. Probably not. So what was Cor spirits-damned Leonis doing in front of her door?

A knock.

"Miss Arra, by order of His Majesty, open the door."

A whine escapes her throat. Oh fuck, oh fuck. What did she do? Epistéme takes a deep breath - or at least tries to. Okay, calm down. There is no use in avoiding the unavoidable. She's going to face this like a true scholar. She makes sure the oversized jumper and the layered skirt sit as best as they can. Then she opens the door.

The Lord Marshal is scowling, clearly displeased. Which, fair. You don't get a door slammed into your face every day.

"Yes?" she asks, doing her best to pretend the last few seconds did not happen.

"Episteme Arra?" he asks again, and again pronouncing her name slightly wrong.

"Yes, that's me," sha says, heart in her throat.

The Lord Marshal reaches inside his uniform jacket and pull out an envelope. Epistéme stares at it. It's a stark black with golden embellishments. Her eyes widen and she feels her mouth going dry.

"Why am I being summoned by His Majesty?" she finds herself asking.

"So you know what this is," the Marshal says.

Now Epistéme huffs. "Of course I do. In this city one cannot escape royal history."

The Marshal doesn't even twitch at her tone. She takes the letter and opens it then and there. Better to get this over with and the Marshal away from her doorstep. Taking in the elegant cursive, she feels her eyes widen. Looking up at the Marshal, the man simply looks at her, frown set in his face.

"One moment, please," she says and slams the door shut again.

***

Regis is very pleased when Cor calls to tell him Miss Arra will join him for a late morning tea. It's a bit short notice, but the servants manage to get the Black Salon ready - the one usually used to entertain important dignitaries. Regis smiles. He can just imagine the servants talking. Clarus keeps shooting him looks.

"I know what you are thinking, old friend, but it cannot hurt to ask," Regis says.

Clarus sighs. He clearly swallows down his protests - knowing they will fall on deaf ears - and instead recites the information him and Cor had gathered yet again.

"Episteme Arra, Galahdian refugee, 32 years old and living with three cousins in an apartment in what is now colloquially called Little Galahd. She is a researcher and assistant teacher at Crown University. Her focus point there is early Lucian history. Her collegues say she keeps to herself and is hard to get along with, but she is a dedicated worker. Also she has some reseach projects that she does in her own time, however no one can tell what they are. She has applied to visit the Royal Archives a total of 38 times and was denied each time."

Regis nods to show he has been listening.

A knock sounds and a servant slips inside the room, bowing deep to the two men.

"Your Majesty, Miss Arra is here and has been guided into the Black Salon."

"Thank you. You may go."

The servants bows again and leaves the room.

"Regis," Clarus says, the tone of his voice carrying the meaning of a whole sentence.

"Not ot worry," Regis says. "This is only simple curiosity."

Clarus clearly did not believe that, but kept silent.

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

Regis steps into the Black Salon. It's a splendid room, with a black marble floor, beautifully patterned rugs, and walls and ceiling made of black stained wood. The furniture is classic Lucian with silver embellishments. Sadly it is too cloudy for the sun to give it that special glow.

Miss Arra rises from the plush chair she had been sitting in. She is tall, with skin a few tones darker than his and long black hair. It holds the characteristic Galahdian braids and adornments. She wears a dark grey turtleneck and a red skirt with orange and white patterns Regis cannot decipher. Her shins and knees are covered in what his research has uncovered as traditional leg warmers. She curtsies, and it would be perfect, if not for the shortness of her skirt.

"Your Majesty, it's an honour to have received your invitation," she says.

Regis believes her as much as he believes Cor when he says he likes paperwork.

"Miss Arra, thank you for agreeing to this meeting," he says. "Please, sit."

She waits until Regis sat down. So she knows her etiquette. Interesting.

The moment they sit a servant enters with a cart, carrying the tea and snacks. It's Blue Star tea along with nuts, dried fruits and chocolate tart with bamohn. Regis did his research. It all is served with one of their best tea sets and his grandmother's black porcelain. Miss Arra looks a bit wide eyed at the proceedings.

"Now then," Regis says once the servant is gone, "I must apologise for the scare my Marshal gave you this morning."

"No, no! It's- well, thank you," Miss Arra says, stammering a bit. She eyes the tea and the snacks in front of her, her posture stiff but perfect.

"Did he tell you why I wanted this meeting with you?"

"No."

Of course he didn't.

Regis reaches for a thin foulder on a small table next to him and slides it towards Miss Arra. It contains a copy of the diary entry mentioning the Conqueror sailing towards Galahd, as well as a few pages containing notes pertaining the diary the entry was from, as well as notes of the prliminary research that had already been done in his name.

"I believe, Miss Arra, you might be in the unique position to answer a few questions I have concerning this," he says.

"Oh," she says as she skims over the diary entry. "That."

[adickaboutspoons]

OFMD Meta masterpost

Meta I've written both as dancing-with-the-madmen and here at spoondick, llc.

The Relationship is the Show (meta about the nature of Ed & Stede's relationship) The Art of Buggery Speedrunning U-Haul Pirates I Object to the Term “Whim”

A Fancy Man on a Fancy Ship (Stede meta) Stede and the Thanatos Drive* cPTSD trauma responses in Ed and Stede But Why Piracy? Touchy-touchy Talk it Through as a Crew (not for me, though, just for you) Stede is No Coward (a “no-but” tag novel) Did Stede CHOOSE to abandon Ed? (a “no but” tag novel) Stede didn’t abandon his crew (a totally measured and level-headed response to the idea that Stede owes the crew an apology for what happened after he “abandoned” them) Stede also didn’t set the French Boat Party on fire Stede also also isn't uniquely nor excessively susceptible to flattery or compliments (a tag novel) Lines in the Sand: Why Stede telling Ed “I don’t like who you are around this guy” is a Character Growth moment The Seeds of Tragedy: How Ed’s choice to leave with Calico Jack primed Stede to break his heart When a Steard is not a Beard

This Fictional Character is Having A Hard Time (Ed meta) Spooky Scary Speculation (what if Ed thinks the reason Stede didn’t join him at the dock is because Stede is dead?) Clearly I was wrong about this, but whatevs. It’s not bad reasoning; just not the way the show chose to go. And that's okay. Scraps of Evidence, or the Maps that Lead to You Fire Marshal Ed Guilt and Struggling with Worthlessness (a “yes-and” reply) Team Never A Plan (a “no but” reply) I will contend to the end that Ed saying he was planning on burning Stede’s face off in s2e4 was just him being mad at Stede and try to score one off him in much the same way him saying "last night was a mistake" in s2e7 was about pushing Stede away, not expressing regret that they slept together. Because it’s either that or he’s not as smart as I thought he was. Because it’s frankly a dumb plan. Ed Knows about Mary (a “no but” reply from before we got uncontestable s2 confirmation) Ed and the Hornighost (self loathing and the capacity for self-love) Kicking a man (out) while he’s down By the Neck; or, Pearls Mean Tears (the significance of the pearl necklace) Ed’s relationship to using violence: Part 1 Part 2

A Normal Amount of Secretive (Jim meta) We Live in a State of Nature Why The Kraken Kept Jim and Frenchie (and not anyone else): (a “yes and” reply)

Never Apologize (Mary meta) Mary is not without fault (and that’s a good thing) (a “yes and”-ing tag novel)

Girl How ARE You? (Zheng Yi Sao meta) Tea Soup and Sympathy

Deep Dives by episode: S01ep06: The Lamentable Tragedie of Hands-let Why Are Fang and Ivan Backing up Izzy During the Doggy Heaven Scene? S01ep8: The Massive Aggression of Calico Jack Homophobia in a $5 Halloween Mask (a series of "yes-and" replies) S01ep10: The Significance of Ned S02ep05: The Curse of “The Curse of the Seafaring Life” Season 2s Racist Problem

Set design: Ok, so I’m a dick about spoons Ship-shaped, Part 1 - What We Know Ship-shaped, Part 2 - Best Guesses Ship-shaped Part 3 - Rampant Speculation and Vile Calumny Ship-shaped Part 4 - A Proportional Response Ship-shaped Part 5 - The Not-So-Secret Stairs Ship-shaped: Part I Give Up Ship-shaped: Part It’s Just A Tardis, Ya’ll Gay Love on the Horizon Into the Metatext (reading Howard Pyle's Book of Pirates, the book Stede shows Ed from his library, for insight into OFMD) A conversation with @nicnacnonsense about the significance of the illustrations of Blackbeard used on the show Additional commentary on the nature of the illustrations used on the show launched by @triflesandparsnips More Thoughts about the relationship between in-universe Text and Images and how they represent Reality (now with S2) Cooking with Roach Season 2 on the rocks (themed cocktails and mocktails to enjoy with OFMD S2) 85 days?!?!?!?! 5 of Swords Season 2 Timeline Stuff I’m a giver ;)

Costuming: I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues (a response to and expansion upon weirdgirlcore’s meta on the use of blue in Stede’s wardrobe) Orange (the conclusion to I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues. Brevity? I don’t know her) Let’s do the Time(line) Warp Again! (adding on to @nicnacnonsennse’s excellent timeline video. Not STRICTLY costuming-related, but I’m putting it here because my first addition was predicated on costuming evidence) On Indigo and Not-So-Secret Ghosts On Gloves and Cravats: Why the Kraken went from full gauntlet-style gloves at the end of s1 to half-gloves in s2, and why they later disappear altogether, and what's the deal with the lack of s2 cravat Steal Ed’s Party Look: A Step-by-Step Hair Styling Tutorial with Pics Ed’s Princess (with a disorder) Hair: A Step-by-Step Hair Styling Tutorial with more shitty mirror selfies

[stars-gazeback]

how do you take your tea (smuggler), sir? | @stars-gazeback​ 

codywan | 2.5k | teen+ 

tags: Obi-Wan Kenobi Loves Tea | fox is a good brother and the captain of this ship (from a distance) | Getting Together | Cody becomes an intergalactic tea smuggler after one conversation with his general | top cody if you squint | not even remotely an abo fic despite the first three sentences I promise | Obi Wan Kenobi is a Certified Tea Snob but is being so brave about it | Cody is a Certified Coffee Snob because Obi-Wan turned him into one on accident | Anakin Skywalker Is a Cockblock (Implied)

He smelled it in the long hall before he was even halfway to his quarters, and it set him on alert faster than a klaxon.

“Uhh,” he said, very eloquently, which did at least very effectively cut short whatever tirade Anakin was in the middle of at his side. “Excuse me a moment, won’t you, Anakin?”

And then he was moving — not quite jogging, but definitely walking at a pace that could not be described as dignified for either a Jedi or a General. Later, of course, he would try very hard to persuade Anakin (and Rex, who saw the security holo) otherwise.

“Oh- I guess- Obi-Wan, wait, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all!” Obi-Wan tossed back over his shoulder, his robe desperately trying to shed itself in his wake.

Waves of fragrance rolled over him, some he recognized and many he didn’t: a tide of sweets and bitters, loams and florals, ambrosian and rich. As he drew closer to his quarters and the air turned thick with it, he swore he would be undone.

He fluttered a hand impatiently at the doors when he staggered to a stop, and the panels slid apart, all too slowly, to reveal —

“Cody!” blurted the High Jedi General of the Grand Army of the Republic, who was certainly not breathless from power-walking down a hallway.

“Kark,” muttered the Marshall Commander of the 7th Sky Corps, quite less under his breath than Obi-Wan was sure he meant it to be.

“General. Sir,” Cody said, stumbling over his feet in an effort to turn around, obstructing Obi-Wan’s view of the desk behind him, and tucking his arms suspiciously around his back. “Obi-Wan,” he corrected slowly, upon noting that Anakin was not looming over Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he so often was, these days.

“What’s… going on here?” Obi-Wan asked, trying surreptitiously to peek around Cody’s broad frame.

“Well… I. We . No, I-” Cody stopped, drew a breath; Obi-Wan fought back something between a laugh and an affectionately impatient sigh, now that he was positively drowning in the whorls of scent flying errant about his room.

“This is for you,” Cody finally settled on, stepping aside.

CONTINUE READING ON AO3