#this skunk has been hanging around for the last few weeks now

[sesshy380]

Me: Able to sleep in and actually not hurting for a change so no intention of getting up early.

My son at 5:30 AM: "I just saw the skunk heading for the driveway."

Cue me having to get up and remote start the car to thaw the frost so I can drive kid down to the end of the driveway and wait for the bus without worrying about the fart squirrel.

[jungle-angel]

Hard Day’s Night (Miles Miller x Reader)

Summary: Miles has been to hell and back, but you never fail to show him what heaven looks like

BIG SMUT WARNING!!!!!!! 18+ only, minors DO NOT INTERACT

 Miles ran a hand through his hair, hoping to God the other desk clerk would show up for his shift. Every last square inch of him ached, his head, his neck, his feet and his shoulders. His eyes had begun to sting, the weight of the previous night on his mind along with the nightmare that had kept him up until sunrise.

“Miles?” asked a familiar voice, a low southern drawl that was only heard every so often throughout the hotel.

Miles snapped awake when he felt the hand tapping his elbow. “George, I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t even know I was asleep.”

“Son, it’s perfectly alright, I understand,” Mr. Lawson assured him. “I didn’t sleep so well myself.”

Miles felt a little better but the embarrassment still lingered, hanging over his head like a little shadow that followed him everywhere. “I take it Richie didn’t show up?” Miles croaked.

“No and I think today’s the day I’m gonna cut him loose,” George answered sternly. “I can understand being absent for lengthy periods of time for health or family reasons, but the other day somebody caught the little devil out back smoking that skunk grass some of the longhaired folk like to smoke.”

“Was it you?” Miles asked him. “Maybe Tripp? Or Dan?”

“No, no it uh....it was Chase, that longhair who we took on as a groundskeeper,” Mr. Lawson explained. “He said he went to go and get some fresh air with his son this morning and could smell it behind the dumpster.”

Miles laughed a little. His new friend Chase, had been known to smoke the grass every once in a while, but in front of his own kids? He had told Miles he’d rather get shot than do that in front of them. Miles had been glad that Chase had taken Benny and Arlo for the weekend, but wished he could be spending more time with his parents and his son.

And especially you.

You had been on his mind all day and for the better part of the afternoon, the littlest things about you filling his mind to keep the stress from getting under his skin. Even now, six years after your marriage, you still gave Miles the feeling of butterflies in the stomach every time he saw you walk into a room.

Miles reluctantly clocked out only when George jokingly told Miles he’d beat him blue if he didn’t take a long weekend. Lucky for him, the Fourth was right around the corner which meant all the city dwellers would be coming to Lake Tahoe for the fireworks and celebrations that would last anywhere between three days and a week.

Miles shuffled his way back to the living quarters he shared with you, his parents taking up residence on the other side of the wall during the season. Miles heaved a sigh when he noticed the room was empty, the tears starting to fall from his eyes. He knew most days you wandered off on your own, sometimes heading off on the hiking trail near the hotel or heading downtown for just a few minutes. Yet somehow, the stress of the day had really gotten to him, weighing him down a little more than normal and making him feel as though he had fallen and hurt himself. 

Miles went straight to the bathroom and ran the hot water, sitting on the edge of the tub as he pulled off his shoes, socks, jacket and tie. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his white shirt, his eyelids heavy from the lack of sleep and the weight still sitting heavy on his shoulders. As soon as he slipped in and turned off the hot water, he felt it all melting away from his muscles, the aches and pains washing right away. 

Miles felt his eyes fluttering shut, unable to fight the urge to sleep any longer, his heartbeat and breathing relaxing as he sank further into the water. It was only a second that he had seen the jungle, the rice paddies and the villages where his platoon had been, the people that dwelled there and the baby girl he had helped take care of while her mother and father were being treated by the company medic. 

But soon, Miles’s dreams had turned to something better, memories of you, those long summer days and nights spent swimming in Lake Tahoe and of course, the hot, rainy summer night when Benny had been born. Miles felt his heart skip a beat when the memory of that night came flooding back, how shaky he had been, holding his precious little son who was already running and talking back at him. 

When he finally awoke, Miles felt much less achy, a little heavy headed but feeling much better as he wrapped the towel around his waist. He went straight to the sink and ran the hot water again, pulling out his old shave kit from the Army that he had kept as an “heirloom”. Bullshit you little knucklehead.....he laughed to himself. You stole it right out from under their noses......

God it felt good when the coolness of the shaving cream hit his jaw, cheeks and neck, slathering it on until he had a coat of it thin enough to get rid of the stubble. It wasn’t until he had finished, washed off his face and put everything away in the medicine cabinet, that he felt a familiar sensation between his shoulders along with a mischievous giggle that reached his ears. 

“Hi handsome,” you purred. 

“And where have you been all day Mrs. Miller?” he chuckled. 

“Out on the trail, looking for plants,” you answered, pressing another kiss to the bare skin on his back.

Miles’s hand trailed to yours as your arms coiled around his waist. “Doing better?” you asked him. 

“Much better,” Miles sighed. “I slept a little after I clocked out. Still feel a little achy though.” 

You kissed the spot again. “You want me to make you feel better?” 

Miles felt his heart jump inside his chest. In those short six years of marriage, he knew what this usually led to. “Y-you want to?” he stammered. He was lucky he didn’t still have the shaving razor in his hand. 

“Baby, you took care of me when I was in labor with Benny and after he was born,” you purred. “Let me take care of you for once.” 

Miles felt the goosebumps beginning to prick on his skin as you ran your warm hands along his sides, his eyes shutting in complete bliss as your hands slowly went from his sides to his hips, trailing along his stomach and right to his crotch where he felt your hand gently wrapping around his length. Miles let out a blissful moan as you began working away, your gentle hands guiding him into that high that he knew he could only experience with you. 

Your voice whispered sweet nothings in his ear as your hand worked away at the now evident hardness inside the towel wrapped around his waist. Miles could feel the heat flaring in his face, his hands, his chest and his stomach as you whispered those sweet but dirty words in his ear. 

 “Am I being good for you?” you whispered. “Hmm? Am I being good for my handsome guy?” 

“You’re too good to me,” Miles whimpered, his mouth parted in complete bliss. 

“Oh baby,” you murmured. “You’re being such a good boy for me.” 

Miles could feel himself chasing that familiar high, your touches making the butterflies in his stomach almost overwhelming as he keened into your touch. His soft moans and whimpers were music to your ears as your hand worked away at his hardness. Your fingers had begun to feel a little wet, but that was nothing compared to the wetness that was beginning to build between your legs. 

“You want a taste of me don’t you?” you cooed. “You want a taste of your pretty little wifey?” 

Miles couldn’t take it anymore. He suddenly turned right around, picked you right up and stuck you on the edge of the sink, burying his face in your neck and dying to get a taste of you. You gasped when you felt that hardness enter you and so didn’t Miles. 

“Baby,” he murmured as his lips trailed down the curve of your neck. “You’re so perfect......gotta get a taste of you honey.” 

You felt him rutting into you, going deeper and deeper until you felt his hips closing against yours, the space between you practically nonexistent. Miles picked you right up off the edge of the sink and carried you straight to the bedroom, laying you down carefully with him still on top of you. He quickly attached himself to your neck but soon rolled onto his back with you straddling his waist on top of him. 

“What do you want baby?” you asked him. 

“You,” Miles whimpered. 

You made a face as if he hadn’t heard you. “What do you want Miles?” 

“You....” 

“No......what do you want?” 

“YOU!” Miles blurted out as a tear fell from his gentle blue eyes and his chin trembled a little. 

You smiled lovingly at him as you took his hands in yours, placing them on your hips, slowly swaying back and forth on his throbbing cock, reveling in the soft whimpering and moaning that came from your husband, more so when you began sucking and gently biting at his chest. You felt him thrust up into you when your lips and your tongue brushed against his nipples. Finally, you felt him spill himself right into you, both of you riding out your high until you guided each other back down. 

Miles sat himself up, still inside you as he pulled you close to his chest, his nose nuzzling against your reddened cheeks before he placed a kiss on each one. “You’re amazing,” he murmured. 

You wanted to answer him but your head was almost spinning as Miles laid you on your back. When you tried to squirm off of his cock, he gently stopped you. “No, no baby,” he pleaded. “Please....please stay.” 

You couldn’t say no, not to the pleading look in those eyes. You both laid on your sides, your gazes locked together with the two of you still joined together at the hips. 

“Do you remember the last time we were like this?” Miles whispered, brushing a lock of your hair out of your face.

You smiled, recalling the memories in the back of your mind. “I couldn’t forget it if I tried,” you laughed. 

“One gorgeous summer day,” Miles murmured. “Six years ago, the two of us.....my mother and father embarrassing the ever living hell out of us. It all led to the best things that ever happened to me.....you and Benny.” 

You pressed a sweet kiss to his lips before he nuzzled your face. “I love you Miles,” you whispered. 

“I love you too Mrs. Miller,” Miles replied. “I always will.” 

[sl-newsie]

Spelled (Carlos de Vil x Sanderson Daughter)- Ch. 5: Royal Announcement

It’s been a few months since I first came to Auradon, and I must say I’ve managed to settle in fairly well. My ‘initiation’ that Chad had mentioned turned out to be me being bombarded by silly string in the middle of the night by the fencing team. I swear if it weren’t for Binx I would have jinxed them into croaking like frogs.

My magic classes include potion-making, antidotes and anti-don’ts, hexes, jinxes and beyond, and Goodness 201 (advanced goodness class). When I asked why I had to take a goodness class Fairy Godmother said it was “to prepare for distributing good deeds with our magic.” It’s just a bunch of please and thank-you's mixed in with helping the poor and needy, and in all honesty it’s the most boring class I’ve ever gone through. Fiona, daughter of Fauna (as in Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather) became my unapproved tutor. She’s constantly reminding me of what I’m doing wrong- and I’ve come close at least 5 times of cursing her perfume to smell like a skunk.

I also got to meet other, more friendlier students, such as Tiffany and Doug. Tiffany, daughter of Tiana and Naveen, is the best cook I’ve ever had the pleasure of taste-testing for! She definitely inherited her mother’s talent for cooking, and her dad’s talent of dancing. Every time I visit the kitchen she’s waltzing around whipping up some new recipe, and is always looking for test subjects.

Doug is just as good a friend. He’s my study partner, and basically knows every textbook cover-to-cover. Unlike Ben, Doug supports my ingenious prank ideas and sometimes comes up with his own ideas- such as letting a squirrel loose in Audrey's dorm. After ten minutes of her banshee scream I let Binx and Twilight chase the poor creature out. Audrey then appeared to see me as an important ally in regards to pest control and has become somewhat less bitchy ever since.

Right now we’re being taught about illumination vs flame spells. Hopefully I won’t set anything on fire this time!

“Now, instead of saying ‘illumincerate,’ I want you to recite: lumicious!” Fairy Godmother announces with a very enthusiastic grin.

“Lumicious,” we all chant in unison. Sure enough, a tainted pink light appears in the palm of my hand- and it’s not fire!

My success causes me to start clapping and cheering (something surely from my Mom’s side), leading to the others to look at me with confused stares. I try to calm down and go back to being quiet and discreet.

“Magica, Prince Ben has requested your presence,” I hear Jane say from behind me.

She appears to be nervous around the other magical students, so I quickly follow her out to provide some comfort.

“Don’t worry about them- their bark is far worse than their bite. You just need to know how to navigate a conversation with them without spelling them to sleep.”

Jane frowns. “Why would I do that?”

I snicker. “So you don’t have to talk to them.”

She gets the joke and gives a carefree laugh. “I wish I was as good as being popular as you!”

W-What?

My smile twitches. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on! You’re, like, one of the most adored kids in the school, Magica! Everyone likes you. You’re so nice and helpful, talented…”

I see her face drop and I put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, hey. Jane, you’ve got something I will never, ever have. I can’t exactly say what, but just know that you are very fortunate in the family department. I don’t want to be ‘cool’ or ‘popular.’ I never asked for that, and I don’t want it. So if you’re cool with me hanging out with you and hiding from all the snobby stuck-up princesses,” I give her a quick, tight hug. “Then I’d really appreciate it.”

Thankfully, my input seems to lift Jane’s spirits. “So, how’s it been being the Royal Advisor?”

I tilt my head. “You know, it’s kinda just a job that means saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to Ben’s crazy new ideas. Did you know last week he asked if we should try exploring the Trident Seas? I told him we should focus more on international matters before worrying about diplomatic expeditions. Seriously, Ben says he’s grown ‘more mature’ and ‘wise,’ but at times he’s still the scatterbrained boy I grew up with. A truly good heart, but not so much in the think-before-doing department.”

We get to Ben’s room and Jane leaves me to deal with the new appointment with the soon-to-be king. Inside, Ben is trying to stand still on a pedestal while the royal tailor measures him, although he’s much too fidgety to get any proper work done.

“Greetings, my liege! How might I serve thou?” I announce dramatically with a curtsey.

Ben rolls his eyes and gives an annoyed grunt. “Enough with the fancy talk, Sparks. I don’t have the patience.”

“Note taken. So, what service do you require from me today?”

“I’ve… kinda got a new proclamation. A royal announcement, if you will.” Ben points a finger.

I give the tailor a look of apology. “And… this couldn’t wait until you’re not as… occupied?”

“Ugh,” Ben groans as the tailor gestures again for him to stand still. “Another fitting, yeah. I can’t wait- it’s too important!”

“What’s too important?”

Just then, King Beast and Queen Belle themselves enter. I must admit, I’m surprised they’ve grown to like me in the past few months. One might say they’ve all but adopted me as part of the family.

King Beast shakes his head, smiling. “How is it possible that you’re going to be crowned king next month? You’re just a baby!”

“He’s going to be sixteen!” Queen Belle swats his arm.

While they do small bickering back and forth I take a moment to get out some paper and a fountain pen to write down any notes Ben has for me.

“I’ve chosen my first official proclamation.” Ben looks at me for support, and I give a warm smile. “”I’ve decided that the children on the Isle of the Lost be given a chance to live here in Auradon.”

Wait- what?

Did I hear that right? Ben’s requesting that more villain kids come to Auradon Prep? Not that I’m opposed, it’s just… I’m opposed! If supposedly ‘good’ kids like Audrey and Willow can be bratty jerks then I don’t even want to know what evil-rooted villain kids are like!

Ben’s parents seem to share my feelings, because they’re already arguing.

“Every time I look out there I feel like they’ve been abandoned!”

“The children of our sworn enemies, living among us?” Ben’s dad questions with steep doubt. “Magica is an exception, but how can you wish that kind of evil upon our kingdom?”

I’m… an exception? Um, thanks, I guess? But I must admit a part of me does feel guilty that I’ve been able to build a stable, ‘good’ life in Auradon while there must be other kids on the Isle that wish for the same thing.

“Everyone deserves redemption,” I add to help back Ben up.

Ben gives me a bright smile. “Exactly! Just look at how Magica’s come to terms with being good! She’s proven that a descendant from a wicked witch can choose to be good and helpful!”

This sends Ben’s parents looking at each other with nervous, anxious glances.

“Have you decided on which kids to invite first, or is it a free-for-all?” I ask.

“I’m getting to that,” Ben points to me. “Cruella de Vil, Jafar, the Evil Queen, and… Maleficent.”

Queen Belle gasps and King Ben’s mouth drops. “She is the most evil villain in the land, Ben!”

Ooh, Maleficent. From what I’ve heard, even my Aunt Winnie was afraid to tangle with the infamous dragon queen. Although not as big of a temper, Maleficent’s powers far surpass my family’s coven. Not that I’m afraid of her or her daughter, but I am curious as to how much Ben has thought this selection through. Cruella? Alright. Jafar? Why not? Evil Queen? A bit egotistic of herself but not everyone’s perfect. But Maleficent? One could say inviting any kin of hers is a recipe for disaster. I know he just wants to make his parents proud, but to what extent? In a way, he’s using these kids to prop up his image to make him seem more inclusive.

“We could let them stay for a semester and see if they can learn to fit in with our society?” I pitch. “I’d personally see to any magical mishaps.”

Ben gives me a thank-you thumbs up, while his parents are still stewing over the new idea.

“I suppose it would be a fresh perspective to invite other kids to the school…” Queen Belle thinks out loud.

King Beast still seems unconvinced, but says no rebuttal. “Very well. But remember, son, they’re your responsibility.”

I scrunch my nose. These are people we’re talking about, not dogs. Why are we acting as if they can’t think for themselves?”

“Well done,” Queen Belle whispers to Ben before she turns to leave with her husband.

Ben gives a surprised smile, but still seems unsure.

I walk up and pat his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll make them proud. I know it. But I do have one condition for this new proclamation.”

Ben goes back to the impatient tailor. “What’s that, Sparks?”

I hold my head confidently. “Keep the charade that I’m an orphan. Don’t tell the new students I’m a VK. If they do plan on double-crossing us then I don’t want them to see me as an edge.”

Ben waves it off. “They won’t, Sparks. We’re offering them a second chance-”

“Yes, but even I have my doubts. Call it intuition, call it a foreshadowing spell, but I don’t trust anyone but my father and you. Don’t make me become torn between sides, Ben. I can’t promise I’ll be able to control my powers when extreme conflict breaks out.”

“Jeez, relax Sparks! You’re talking all mystic-magic like. It’s kinda creepy!”

I scoff. “Do not insult me by pretending to know anything about being cursed with this, Ben. You’re already the poster child for the good guys, at least give me leverage to be seen next to you as an advisor, and as a friend.”

“Aw, c’mere Sparks.” Ben wraps me up in a hug. “Don’t worry too much. You’re the best Advisor I could ever ask for, and you’re fitting right in!”

I smile. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

And maybe I can help these new VKs fit in too...

[littledrummeraussie]

summer nights.

Word count: 4000+

Warnings: casual drinking. tipsy flirting. first time having sex with each other. handjob. fingering. slight nipple kink. sex with protection. mentiones of possible future encounters. consent. because consent is sexy.

Author’s note: when Alice @babylonashton posted this freakin’ photoset of Ashton in that black tank top - I basically lost it and told my friend how I wanna feel his soft warm skin against mine. Cue to me writing a sweet summer fic where reader is lucky enough to feel that soft warm skin up close.

A big shoutout to @mymindwide for letting me use her again as my emotional punching bag. Love you more than you know.

Feedback is appreciated!

masterlist.

- - - - -

Luke has been bugging you for weeks about a game night/long weekend getaway vacation he has planned with his friends, saying that he thought you might have fun and it would finally give you the chance to meet his oh so famous band members. When you still weren’t sure about your answer he asked his girlfriend too, who practically begged you to join them for those few days, saying how they needed the girl power if they wanted to slay the boys in all the games they have planned. In the end you needed to agree, not being able to say no to both their puppy dog eyes and pouty lips.

You needed to give it to them that all their friends were amazing, and you did feel like one of the group from the moment you’ve stepped out of their car. They quickly started setting up a grill and the games they have brought with themselves, everyone settling into their rooms and the new environment for the next 4 days. Luke took some time to introduce you to his band members, and the ice was broken in seconds, all three of them acting like you’ve known each other for a long time now.

By the third night it didn’t surprise you anymore if Michael started eating from your plate, if Calum shared his beer with you while putting Duke in your lap for ear scratches, or if Ashton started snapping photos of the two of you while you pattered around the kitchen. Luke seemed absolutely happy with how everything turned out, and you thanked him and his girlfriend countless times for making you come with them.

To mix things up a little they’ve decided to put everyone’s name into a cup, pulling out two pieces of papers to make teams for an upcoming beer-pong challenge. Ashton gave you a pointed look when they’ve announced you as a team, saying how you are winning this thing, even if you end up drunk as a skunk. After your first failed attempt he stepped behind you, holding onto your wrist to help you aim the ball, which quickly landed in one of the cups, making Calum grimace as he drank his beer.

* * *

”No, no, don’t do it! Don’t! Doooon’t!” Michael yelled as Ashton aimed the ball again, throwing it into the last of the cups, sticking his tongue out at his friend. ”Dammit mate!”

”We won!” Ashton announced it with a laugh, quickly wrapping his arms around you as he picked you up. ”Drink up, Clifford!”

”Ash, no, don’t drop me!” you squealed as he was spinning you around, holding onto his shoulders as he finally put you down, his cheeks pink and a smile pulling at his lips.

”We make such a good team,” he gave you a high five before pulling you in for another hug.

And that was a moment. It felt like electricity ran through the both of you as he wrapped his strong arms around you, his skin warm and soft where it touched you. You wanted to pull away. You wanted to stay in his arms forever. His grip on you got stronger for a second, then he was letting you go, but his eyes were shining, lips parted as he quickly licked them, and you were sure he was trying to catch his breath the same way that you did.

”Are you done celebrating or can we finally have dinner?” Calum asked from his place by the fire, and you gave him a nod, pulling away from Ashton.

”We don’t want you to starve, Cal,” Ash huffed at him, rolling his eyes in a comical way. ”Could have started without us.”

”You would have stuck with the remaining salad, mate,” Luke laughed at him, and with that motioned for you two to join them.

* * *

The night went on with lots of talking, all of you feeling a little buzzed after your game of beer-pong and the drinks you had during dinner. Ashton sat on the other side of the fire, explaining something to his friends about this or that, but his eyes found you whenever there was a lull in the conversation, returning the smiles you’ve sent his way. It was about an hour later that he went inside the house, coming back with a blanket that he wrapped around your shoulders, sitting down and putting his arm around you to pull you to his side.

”Thanks,” you felt a blush colouring your cheeks as he made himself comfortable. ”Do you need the other half?”

”I’m fine, thank you,” he smiled at you, rubbing your arm. ”I’m never really cold, so this is nice for me.”

”Yeah, I’ve felt that,” you whispered, almost like an afterthought, gaze lingering on his arms and the black tank top pulling tightly over his chest.

”This way you don’t have to be cold either,” he gave you a wink, squeezing you to his side once again, and you let your head rest on his shoulder as you joined the conversation again.

* * *

The next thing you remembered was a chuckle against your ear and Ashton slightly shifting next to you, his hand still lightly rubbing your arm. Even in your half-asleep state you picked up on the quiet that surrounded you, the voices low and masculine around you, and you were sure the girls have already gone to bed, leaving the guys to have some time to themselves. You must have fallen asleep leaning against Ashton’s shoulder, and he was nice enough not to wake you while you napped and enjoyed the warmth radiating from his body.

”She’s out like a light,” you heard Calum say it from somewhere around the other side, a smile playing in his voice. ”You were upgraded to a pillow, mate.”

”Shh, don’t wake her,” Luke shushed Calum, and you felt Ashton trying to stifle his laugh, the sound vibrating against your cheek.

”Can’t blame her, though. We all know Ashton is a great pillow,” Michael made a comment too, and the others hummed in agreement.

”Guess this is my cue,” you felt Ashton turning towards you, his arms gently sliding around your back and under your knees, pulling you into his lap before standing up. ”I’ll take Y/N up to bed, then I’ll probably turn in too. Don’t stay up late.”

”Good night, Grandpa,” Calum snorted, and Ashton mumbled something colourful in response, making his way towards the house.

* * *

”You’re still nice and warm,” you hummed against Ashton’s neck as he took the last few steps to arrive to the first floor where all your bedrooms were.

”What, you’re not scared anymore that I’m gonna drop you?” he chuckled, tightening his arms around you as he turned the corner, looking for your room.

”You just want me to compliment you on how strong you are,” you giggled lightly, and he laughed against your hair, opening the door with his shoulder.

”Aren’t you just lucky to have your own personal walking-talking furnace pillow?” he put you down on the bed, hands sliding down to your feet. ”Alright, shoes.”

”I could just kick those off, you know,” you buried your face against the pillow, eyes barely open as you looked at Ashton fumbling with the laces on your shoes.

”It’s no trouble at all,” he smiled at you quickly, thumb brushing over your ankle before he tugged off the other one too. ”Guess you’re all set, love.”

”Thank you,” you mumbled, and Ash just nodded, fixing the blanket around your feet.

”I’ll see you in the morning,” he hesitated for a moment then stood up, stepping to the door. ”Good night, Y/N.”

”Good night… Ashton?”

”Yeah?” he turned back, leaning against the doorframe.

”Would you mind staying?” you bit your lip as you let the question hang between the two of you. ”I’m– still a little cold…”

”The blanket’s not enough?” a grin pulled at his lips as he closed the door behind himself.

”Definitely not as warm as you,” you confessed, lifting the sheets up as an invitation. ”What do you say?”

Ashton shook his head with a smile, already kicking off his shoes before climbing onto the bed and over you, his strong arms bracketing you as he leaned forward. He rested his forehead against yours, the tip of his nose tickling your skin as you relaxed against the pillow, arms slowly wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Ash sighed happily as you ran your fingers up his neck, stroking through his hair at the nape, and he gently pressed his lips against the corner of your mouth.

”Wanted to kiss you since the moment you’ve made me pancakes at one in the morning,” he lazily kissed your chin, running his lips down your throat and up to your ear, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.

”What’s holding you back now?” you tilted your head up to lightly brush your lips against his bottom one and he hummed in response, leaning closer.

”I guess I don’t have a way out now,” he whispered on your lips, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he smiled. ”So I might as well just shut up and kiss you.”

You both chuckled at his words before Ashton cupped your face, pressing his lips against your forehead, the tip of your nose, and after a long look into each other’s eyes he finally kissed your lips. He lightly sucked on your bottom lip, tongue slowly slipping into your mouth as you relaxed into his touch, a quiet moan echoing around the room. Ashton faintly tasted like the ice cream you had a few hours ago, with a hint of the beer he must have drunk while you were sleeping on his shoulder. Your thumb brushed over the shell of his ear, fingers tangling into his dark locks just above it as you pulled him closer, all of your senses wanting more of his scent, his touch and taste. A low groan resonated against your chest where you were pressed together, his elbows and knees pushing into the mattress keeping him up above you.

”Want you closer,” you slid your hands down on his sides, fingers tangling into the hem of his tank top, slowly tugging it upwards to feel his skin against your palms. ”That’s okay?”

”More than okay, love,” Ash groaned, pushing back for another kiss as you worked the fabric up on his back, only letting go of you when you needed to pull it over his head.

Before you knew it he pulled away again, grabbing onto the blanket covering you and tossing it on the floor, just so he can take a good look at you. He was ready to climb back over you, but you were quick to kneel up in front of him, arms wrapped around his neck to kiss him again. Ashton’s arms circled your waist, pulling you to his chest as he tickled your skin, bunching the material of your shirt in his fists before pulling it off. A shiver ran through you as he massaged your back, his touch warm and curious as his fingers slid under the clasp of your bra, giving it the shortest of tugs.

”Still okay?” he rested his forehead against yours, eyes searching your eyes. ”Can I?”

”Please,” you nodded, voice just above a whisper, your own hands sliding down his chest and stomach, fingers tangling into the loops of his jeans.

”You can do that too,” he pressed a kiss on your temple, only working open the clasp when your fingers undid his button and slid the zipper down.

You pushed your head against his shoulder, looking down at his body as your hand slid inside his pants, palm curling around the hot flesh straining against his boxers, and Ashton moaned against your ear, slightly pushing forward to get more friction. His fingers grabbed your chin to tilt your head back up, pressing his lips against yours before pulling the straps of the bra down your arms, pulling back to quickly kick his jeans off, giving you the chance to get rid of your own shorts.

You took a moment to catch your breaths and admire each other’s bodies, his tan skin and tattoos on display to touch and taste, his cock hard and tenting his boxers. His eyes wandered down your neck, fingers following the path over your collarbones and breasts, thumbs rubbing your hard nipples while he kissed into your neck. Ashton’s arms were around you again, helping you lie back on the bed as he hovered above you, nose skimming down your skin as he searched for his prize, lips finally closing around your nipple, gently sucking it into his mouth.

Your fingers aimlessly stroked his hair as his teeth gave a light bite to the hard nub, his tongue massaging it to sooth the sting. He pressed his lips between your breasts, leaving short little pecks on your skin before moving to the other nipple, his mouth already back at work. You felt his thumbs hook into the sides of your panties, the rest of his fingers brushing against your thighs, asking if he can move forward, and you lifted your hips as an answer, making Ashton slip the fabric down your legs.

”You’re still wearing too much,” you laughed into his neck as he pushed himself up to you, hands sliding down his back to lightly squeeze his ass, and Ashton stifled his moan with a giggle.

”Wanna do something about it?” he pressed a quick kiss on your lips, wiggling his eyebrows.

You tugged on the waistband of his boxers, sliding it down on his thighs and Ashton kicked them off, hands gripping your legs as he turned to his side, pulling you with himself. His palm cupped your face, thumb brushing against your cheek as he kissed you long and deep, and you pressed against his chest, curling into his warm embrace. Your fingers skimmed down his arm, then up to brush against his nipple, making Ash hum against your lips and kiss you a little harder. You gave another light tweak to it, and his hips pressed forward, hard cock rubbing against your thigh as he looked for friction.

”How do you like it?” you pressed a kiss on the underside of his jaw as your fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking it up and down.

”That’s perfect,” he breathed against your hair, his noises filled with pleasure. ”You can go faster.”

”Like this?” you picked up the pace, thumb brushing over the tip to spread his precum down on his shaft, and Ashton moaned, a shiver running through him.

”Just like that, yeah.”

His hand wandered down your back, squeezing your ass before lightly caressing your thigh, fingers slowly sliding between your legs, palm cupping your wet sex. You buried your face and moans against his chest as a finger teased between your lips, giving light strokes to your clit before a second one joined, making you shift a little to give him more space.

”You’re absolutely gorgeous,” Ashton nudged his nose against yours, hazel eyes boring into yours as his thumb rubbed your clit, his digits lightly circling your entrance. ”Fingers?”

”Yeah, I like them,” you nodded while pecking his lips, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as he slowly pushed in. ”Fuck, and they feel really good.”

”Yeah, I like your hand on my cock too,” he giggled between moans, fingers slipping deeper, curling against the sweet spot inside you.

He slowly slipped his fingers in an out, stretching you as you still jerked his cock, both of you trying to stifle your noises against the other’s mouth. Then Ashton pulled away, pressing his lips against your cheek and squeezing your hips before reaching for his discarded jeans, pulling out a condom from one of his pockets.

”Did you plan on getting lucky?” you pushed your toe against his knee with a smile, and Ashton chuckled, swiping his fingers through his hair.

”It might have crossed my mind,” he confessed, already tearing the package open.

”How long have you been hiding it?” you let your eyes linger on his fingers as he expertly rolled the condom on his hard cock, giving it a few pumps as he sighed.

”On and off since our midnight kitchen date,” he lay back down beside you, pulling you to his side, squeezing your hips again. ”Definitely been hoping for it after tonight. Put them back into my pocket when I brought you that blanket. You– kinda had an effect on me while you slept.”

”Should I say sorry?” you bit your bottom lip as you reached for his cock, giving it a few strokes before guiding it between your legs, swiping the head between your folds.

”I would rather you make up for it,” a smile pulled at Ashton’s lips as his hand covered yours, pushing the tip against your entrance.

”Sounds good enough for me,” you sighed against his neck, grabbing onto his biceps as he slowly moved, sinking his cock into you.

Ashton pulled your hips closer, fully pushing his cock inside as he kissed your forehead, drawing small circles on your back as you adjusted to his size, your pussy already clenching around him, wanting to feel more of the delicious stretch. He cupped your face as he kissed you, only starting to move when you whimpered your pleas against his lips, urging him to finally make love to you. His thrusts were slow and deep, making your toes curl as the tip of his cock dragged against your sweet spot, and you couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip as he started picking up the pace.

Your nails lightly scratched his shoulder blades, leaving small crescent marks on his skin when he moved above you, pulling your legs around his waist to fuck you the way he liked it, burying his face in your neck when a loud moan escaped his lips. You didn’t want the night to end; feeling Ashton’s body against you was the sweetest thing you’ve experienced in a long time, his kisses making you dizzy and craving more and more. Your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging on his dark locks as he rested his forehead against your temple, nose pushed to your cheek, his breath hot and tickling your skin.

”Want you to cum for me,” he kissed the soft spot behind your ear, hips quickly snapping against yours. ”Wanna feel you around my cock. Can you do that, angel?”

”Ash– fuck, a little more, please,” you whimpered, already feeling the pleasure building in your lower belly, tickling your spine, making you needy for it. ”Just… your fingers…”

”I’ve got you, beautiful,” he pressed his lips to yours, teeth giving the lightest of nibbles to them as he slipped his hand between your bodies, stroking your clit in quick circles. ”Good?”

”Yeah, so good,” you choked on a moan as he hit a sensitive spot, making you squeeze your legs around his waist. ”Ash– Ash, please–”

”I’m here, love,” he pulled your face against his neck, his movements never stopping as he whispered in your ear. ”Cum for me, Y/N.”

His words triggered something in you, and you felt an orgasm run through your body, making you shake from head to toe. Ashton’s arms wrapped around you as he fucked you through your pleasure, his lips and teeth leaving gentle love bites on your neck as you clenched around his cock, and you felt him slightly tremble against you, his movements getting more erratic. You squeezed your walls around him, not caring how sensitive you were, and he groaned against your ear, hips stuttering.

”Y/N–” he swallowed around a moan, fingers digging into your ass. ”Fuck, that’s good.”

”I wanna feel you too,” you kissed into his ear, teeth lightly tugging on his earring. ”Gonna give it to me, Ash? Please, I wanna feel you cum too.”

”Wish I could fill you up,” he panted, lost in his own pleasure, and you moaned at his words, squeezing more tightly around him.

”Next time, baby,” you breathed into his ear, fingers caressing the back of his neck. ”Next time you can have me.”

Ashton’s body tensed above you, his moans muffled against your neck as he stilled, hips lazily trusting into you as his cock twitched and pulsed, filling the condom with his cum. He sighed heavily as the last of his pleasure tickled his senses, burrowing against your neck with a happy sound, resting his weight on you, his skin sweaty and warm against you. You brushed kisses against his cheek, fingers drawing patterns between his shoulder blades, and Ash lightly chuckled, pushing himself up to nuzzle his nose to yours.

”Give me a sec, love,” he pecked your lips and you nodded, letting go of him as he pulled out, both of you slightly groaning at the feeling.

He quickly discarded the condom in the trashcan before climbing back next to you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you against his body. He grabbed the blanket at the end of the bed, pulling it up over your shoulders, tucking it around you.

”So you’re okay with having the other half now?” you silently giggled, pulling the blanket a bit more around his back.

”I have your naked body against me now,” he lovingly tapped your nose with his finger, making you scrunch up your face. ”Of course I wanna share.”

”You know… I’m still a little bit cold…” you squeezed your arms around his waist, and Ashton chuckled, playing along as he pulled you closer.

”Where do you need warming up, love?” he brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, smiling as you tapped your own lips.

”Right here.”

Ashton leaned forward and kissed you gently, spending the next few minutes making out with each other, the soft touches and caresses helping both of you to come down from your highs. He slowly turned onto his back, pulling you as close as he could, tangling your legs together under the blankets. He let you rest your head against his chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat as his fingers played with your hair, both of you ready to fall asleep together.

”You do make a great pillow,” you mumbled against his skin, and you felt the now familiar rumble against your cheek as he chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

”Does this mean you’ll take me home with you?” he slipped his fingers against yours, interlocking them on his stomach, and you lightly squeezed them.

”I could use a body pillow like you at home, yeah. Comfy and warm. Perfect for cuddles.”

”Yeah,” he sighed happily, resting his fingers in your hair. ”I like cuddles too.”

* * *

The sound of the door slowly opening made you aware of the light in the room, and for a moment you were sure Ashton has woken up and left you, but then you felt his warm embrace around you, and you burrowed against his side again, ready to go back to sleep.

”They look cute,” you heard Luke whispering, quickly shushing the two others as they started giggling. ”Don’t, you’re gonna wake them!”

”Must have been a night,” Calum commented, clearly looking at the discarded clothes on the floor.

”Told you Ashton makes a great pillow,” Michael said again. ”And Y/N clearly agrees on that.”

”When you’ve stopped being weirdos… could you leave us alone?” you heard Ashton grumble, moving you both, his back to his friends. ”I don’t need an audience for what is about to happen.”

The door closed as quickly as it has opened, and you stifled your giggles against Ashton’s chest, pressing a kiss into his neck.

”Is that a promise?” you looked up at him, and he gave you a lazy smile, brushing a kiss against your temple.

”How about we have some fun now, and then I’ll make you pancakes?”

- - - - -

taglist.

@mymindwide​ @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @karajaynetoday @myloverboyash @blackbutterfliescal @sexgodashton

drop me a message/reply if you wanna be tagged uwu.

[nancypullen]

Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat

That’s what I was thinking about as I finished that same task in my laundry room.  It’s been almost six months since we locked down and every day feels like wash, dry, fold, repeat.  What are you doing to shake things up?  Anyone starting new hobbies or trying anything crazy?  I’m interested. There’s got o be more to life than folding towels and tee shirts.

Speaking of tee shirts, that’s all I wear anymore.  Yoga pants and tees.  This fall I’ll probably switch to yoga pants and sweatshirts.  FYI, I don’t do yoga - I’m just a fan of stretchy pants.  During this pandemic I have given up...given up makeup, given up coloring my hair, given up wearing bras, given up any attempt at being fashionable by any definition.  I’m a sight to behold.  On the rare occasion that I venture out I just slap on a ball cap and a mask.  No one knows what’s under either.  I do conform to society’s rules and wear a bra when I’m out in public.  I mean, if you’ve ever seen the movie The Blob you’ll know why.  It’s a safety issue.  You’re welcome.   It’s been interesting how things I thought were so important have become afterthoughts.  I spent a lot of time, energy, and money keeping my white roots at bay.  Now I look like this.

The first week of July was my last dance with the dye.  I’d tried a mahogany brown and it was not great.  I’m not 100% committed to the white, but I’m willing to wait and see what happens.  I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.  The mister swears he thinks I’m cute as a button even with my skunk style hair.  He’s half blind, but  he means well.  Silver lining (no pun intended), I’ve got an effortless costume for Halloween this year.  Remember Cruella De Vil?

I’m not tall...or thin...I don’t wear fur coats or have a bunch of dalmatian puppies for props, but I’ve got the two-tone hair.  It’s a start. I’m not saying I’ll never color my hair or wear makeup again, but it sure is easy and comfy NOT to.  And what’s the point?  So strangers think we look nice?  My friends and family don’t care. Personally, I’d like to grow a long, white braid, wear big, funky earrings and overalls, and spend the rest of my days making art and scribbling poems.  So why do we (I) get caught up in what society expects of us - that we’re supposed to combat aging instead of embracing it?  Pretty is not the rent we owe to take up space in this world.  We pay that through kindness, generosity, sharing whatever talents or skills we have - and none of that has to be in a big,world-changing way.  Every little drop of kindness creates a ripple that changes the world.  Do good things in your little space. Okay, I went from hair color to preaching about kindness.  I may be a bit stir crazy from the whole wash, dry, fold, repeat cycle.  These long, somewhat empty days have given my brain free rein. Combine that with the current state of affairs and I’m on my mental soap box a lot.  Good thing only the cats have to listen to me. Phoebe agrees with everything I say. She’s so loyal. If I’m making the bed. There she is, pouncing on pillows and getting under blankets. Then she claims the finished product and wallows in sunbeams.

If I’m at my desk she’s always peeking at me.  That’s fun because she gets warm from the sun on that window, starts to doze off, and her head eventually hits that little bell hanging from the peace sign behind her.  So that whole “every time a bell rings another angel gets its wings” is malarkey, when a bell rings a cat nap has been interrupted.

Ignore that messy desk.  I was in a creative frenzy when I snapped that pic of my stalker.  Sure, that’s what we’ll call it - I’m not untidy, I’m creative. What a rambling, boring post.  I probably shouldn’t have posted at all, but it was a chance to sit down and break up the day.  I do have some exciting news, though.  We were supposed to be packing for a wonderful trip to Prince Edward Island.  Canada is smart and has let us know that we are still not welcome there since Americans can’t seem to get the hang of cooperation and sacrifice for the greater good.  We wouldn’t have gotten on a plane anyway. So that vacation was a bust but Mickey still has some time off.  We’ll be packing the grannymobile and heading back up to Annapolis to see the grandgirl.  Hopefully it also give her parents a break since they’re still trying to work from home with a busy toddler ( Zoom meetings are probably loads of fun with a two-year-old loudly announcing that she went potty).  We’ll spend a few days with them and then instead of driving diagonally through Virginia, we’ll come down the coast to spend a couple of days in the Outer Banks.  We’ll bring groceries, eat take out, and basically roam with masks and hand sanitizer while avoiding people.  Most of the historic spots will be closed, but we can still do some beach walking, maybe see the wild ponies, check out a couple of light houses, and that sort of thing. We won’t be there until after Labor Day, so if 2020 stays true to form a hurricane will hit about the same time.  I shouldn’t even say that out loud. I’ll end this post with happy thoughts of a change in scenery.  I love our little patch, but after six months the walls are starting to close in on me.  Our last trip up to Maryland was such fun and made with minimal stops.  We kept a cooler stocked with drinks and snacks and were choosy about where we stopped for gas.  Masks and hand sanitizer kept risk to a minimum and no one died.  That’s the plan this time too, all fun and no death. What are you doing to maintain your sanity?  Are we the last people still trying to flatten the curve?  I know there are loads of people out there still running around, playing and partying, and I suppose believing the Idiot in Chief that this virus will magically go away.  Newsflash, it won’t.  So if you’re still a shut-in like me, let me know what you’re doing for fun.  And if there’s anyone willing to give me a drive-by haircut I’d appreciate that too.  The days seem long but we’re inching our way to the other side of this. The  average journey of the Oregon Trail from the Missouri River to the Willamette Valley took 5 months.  ARE WE THERE YET?

Hang in there, you’re not alone. XOXO, Nancy

[lost-combustion]

GET TO KNOW THE BLOGGER.

can be used for rp   &   non-rp blogs to get to know a bit about the person behind the screen   !

1. FIRST NAME:           Stephanie, but call me Bishy <3

2. STRANGE FACT ABOUT YOURSELF:            If you were to walk into my apartment, you’d find medieval weaponry hanging up on the walls all over the place. I also was always compared to Iron Man, only because my entire left arm is almost all metal.

3. TOP THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE ON A PERSON:             Their eyes are the first thing I look at. When I saw my wife first, I looked at her eyes and just. Yes. The next observation I really look at is the smile. Each smile holds part of their personality. Then I tend to notice their height. Luckily for me, my wifey is taller than me. <3 

4. A FOOD YOU COULD EAT FOREVER AND NOT GET BORED OF:               Ooooof. If I had to choose just ONE dish, I would have to choose Lemon Pepper fish. While I love sushi, and Alfredo, the lemon pepper fish is absolutely amazing and I finally learned how to make it myself. So I won’t starve if my wife leaves for a night or two. xD

5. A FOOD YOU HATE:               Spinach. Just. Yuck.

6. GUILTY PLEASURE:              Okay so I have a few guilty pleasures. First and foremost is making characters with character creators in games. I just love making them. I also have a huge guilty pleasure for shipping. I’m actually going to copy a statement that someone else made because they describe it incredibly well. 

I love healthy ships and unhealthy ships (but like, don’t glorify them. Recognize they are unhealthy and should not be idealized for RL) I just love love, and I love the butterflies and coyness and excited uncertain that leads up to the very first time a ship admits their feelings most of all.

             But yeah. More guilty pleasures. I also love editing screenshots of characters. I love playing around with the colors and shadows. 

7. WHAT DO YOU SLEEP IN:           Pajama pants. It’s rare for me to sleep with a top on, only because my wife is a massive heater and I’ll overheat if I wear too much.

8. SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS OR FLINGS:              Hah, well I’m married soooo. In October it’ll be 2 years, but we’ve been together for almost 5 years. Longest relationship I’ve ever had! <3 We have our difficulties, yes, but we work through it and keep on trucking.

9. IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN THE PAST AND CHANGE ONE THING ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU AND WHAT WOULD IT BE:               If I could go back, I’d tell my boss to fuck off and stay in Texas with my dad for an additional 3 weeks. That was really the last time I got to spend time with my dad, seeing as the next time I saw him, he passed away. 

10. ARE YOU AN AFFECTIONATE PERSON:             I didn’t grow up around affection. So it took a long time for me to open up and actually showcase affection to people willingly. I’m finally getting better at it though! I want to say yes, I am an affectionate person, but I still struggle at times on whether it’s appropriate or not.

11. A MOVIE YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN:             This will forever be “Sweeney Todd”. I absolutely adore that movie. Or any of the “Pirates of the Caribbean” just because of the aesthetic.

12. FAVORITE BOOK:            Oh gosh. This is extremely hard to choose, only because I love reading. Call of Cthulhu, Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones; anything from Stephen King; I read anything and everything, so choosing one as a favorite is nearly impossible.

13. YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP ANY ANIMAL AS A PET, WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE:               A skunk <3

14. TOP FIVE FICTIONAL SHIPS [IF YOU ARE AN RP BLOG, YOU CAN USE YOUR OWN SHIPS AS WELL]:            Ooooof. I have too many to share. So like, it’s a very toxic ship, but Tsumi ( @tivtastic) and Syat’a are a huge toxic ship that I cannot wait to dive into. Another good ship that I’m kinda adoring is the friendship between Shoto ( @chooseyourmuse) with Astrid. Their closeness just brings me massive feels, and I adore them. Okay, so that’s only two. Let me think. I also am really interested to see the development between Denki ( @persona-de-interes) with Astrid.

           Oh! Another super big ship of mine is Caspian with Roselyn ( @sky-gryphon) on discord. Their raw connection just. Mmph. I love it. I also am really in love with the connection between Colette and Zegnes ( @sky-gryphon) on discord as well. While she’s this big bad predator, he’s so soft towards her and I just. He makes her feel things, which results in me feeling wonderful things for them. Now another- OH MY GOSH HOW COULD I FORGET.  

           How could I ever forget Arron ( @-tiviani-)??? He with ANYONE of my kids. FUCKING ANYONE. Give me that GORY SHIP. So fricken toxic, but YESSSS. 

             EDIT: HOW COULD I FORGET THIS ADORABLE SHIP. OMG SOMEONE HIT ME FOR FORGETTING. Jupiter with Niel ( @softvorenoms). LEGIT GUYS. This ship is SO SUPER ADORABLE. Every time I think of canon relationships for Jupy, I immediately think of Niel. When I finally sit down to write the actual books for Jupiter and her siblings, Niel will either show up in it somewhere or be mentioned. Because these two. <3 <3 <3

15. PIE OR CAKE:           Pie! <3

16. FAVORITE SCENT:                I’m more towards vanilla, but I also am really liking cinnamon (even if I can’t say the damn word)

17. CELEBRITY CRUSH:              Ooooof! Hmm. Okay, so I don’t really keep tabs on celebrity life, so give me a moment to really think. The actress that plays as Scarlet Witch. Yep, she’s real pretty. I also really adore Felicia Day. She’s just perfection. Then there’s Tom Hiddleston. He’s gorgeous. 

18. IF YOU COULD TRAVEL ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO:          Mm... Probably Italy ( seeing as I’m Italian and have yet to see where my family came from ) or Scotland ( because who doesn’t love their accent?? )

19. INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT:              Technically, I’m classified as an “Extroverted Introvert”, but I just like to call myself an Introvert and leave it at that.

20. DO YOU SCARE EASILY:             Hah! I don’t think I scare easily, but I jump super easily.

21. IPHONE OR ANDROID:               Android

22. DO YOU PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES:               ...Do I play video games?? OOOOOF. Yes, lmao! I bounce between PS4 and PC. From Mortal Kombat, Dragon Age series, FFXIV, and soooo many others; I play pretty much anything. 

23. DREAM JOB:                 I’m actually doing my dream job! I work at a museum; I’m a tour guide. I adore learning new things, and retelling history to others. 

24. WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS:               I would first and foremost pay off any dept that my wife has. Then I’d put half of my cash to the side for saving. The rest would be put into paying off my wife’s vehicle (since mine is already paid off) and helping us settle down in an actual house somewhere we want to live for good. Currently we’re living in an apartment, and it’s comfortable yes, but it’s not forever. 

25. FICTIONAL CHARACTER YOU HATE:            A fictional character I hate? Hmm. Oh, oh! I know so many others really adore this character and find him “oh so attractive”, but I cannot stand Zenos yae Galvus from ffxiv. Just no. I can’t. At all.

26. FANDOM THAT YOU WERE ONCE A PART OF BUT AREN’T ANY LONGER:                I used to be big into Inuyasha. In fact, that was the first fandom I actually got into! But I’m not into it any more, only because finding tons of people that still want to write that fandom is almost impossible. Shout out to @nioiidamaa for pulling me back into the fandom because they write AMAZING.

STOLEN FROM:  @bagwormmulti TAGGING:  everyone that I already tagged in earlier, soooo @chooseyourmuse, @persona-de-interes, @sky-gryphon, @tivtastic, @nioiidamaa, @softvorenoms. I also welcome anyone else! If you do it and you weren’t tagged, you’re tagged now!! :D

[jokerfan99]

'Friendly' Reunion by Necroceph

*RVB Opening Theme*

In the mess room, at Blue Base

Now that's a hand! Tucker thought to himself. Four kings and an ace. He's on a winning streak and had just won another of Kai's little 'toy' collection and Caboose's Master Chief 3: The Sang-Man movie disk. He turns his eyes away from the cards and to his opponents. Behind those visors, must be faces riddled with worriedness and fear. He could even hear Kai breathing heavily through that helmet. Confident to win this again, he raises.

Tucker: Raise!

He grabs something from beneath the table and puts it on the table next to his other pile of stuff he has betted none has yet to win. First his stash of porn, his XBOX 1000 and now a rocket launcher aka the SPNKR.

Tucker: Behold the SPNKR! Now who has the balls to beat Tucker The Undefeatable! Kakaina: No fair! I've only got a few stuff left to raise with! Caboose: And I'm running out of Master Chief movies! Tucker: Well you could just give up and walk away. As they say, there's no shame of losing. Kakaina: Ohho I'm not walking away! How about this, I'll bet you... for ME! Weiss: My God, woman. Don't you have any dignity in you?

All players turned to see Weiss standing by the doorway.

Caboose: Hi, Weiss! We're just playing poker. Wanna play? Weiss: Ugh, poker? Why of all games would you all be playing something that involves wasting all of your earnings? Tucker: We're not betting with money, we're betting our stuff. Kakaina: Yeah and this asshole took all of my toys! Weiss: I don't want to think about that. Anyways, stop playing and head upstairs! Tucker: Why? We're heading to the good part. Alright you two, prepare to face the wrath of my hand! Weiss: Our 'friends' from Red base are at our doorstep you dope! We- Tucker: SHH!!! No talking please. Alright you two, prepare to face the wrath of my hand! Kakaina: Bring it!

Tucker reveals his four kings. Kai reveals two pairs, eights and nines. And Caboose... does not reveal his yet for whatever reason.

Kakaina: NOOOOO!!!! Tucker: Fuck yes! Make sure you wear something nice tonight! Caboose, show us yours. Caboose: Uhm, Tucker, can I ask you something? Tucker: Shoot. Caboose: If I win, does that mean I can have all your stuff here? Tucker: That's right, if you can. Muahaha! Caboose: Okay!

Caboose finally revealed his hand. Tucker was about to laugh in victory, but instead he gasped in horror once he witnessed Caboose's hand. A straight flush! One of the few hands that can beat four kings. The Teal One drops his head onto the table in great defeat. Tucker's stash is now Caboose's!

Caboose: Hooray! Tucker: NOOOOO!!!! Kakaina: Pfft HAHAHAHAHAHA! Looks like the 'Undefeated' just got his ass defeated! Haha! Tucker: Not my yearly porn stash! Weiss: Hehehe... ahem! Now that you're all done playing, can we get back to the matter at hand? Caboose: C'mon, Tucker. Let's go see what my brother and his friends want. Tucker: I don't wanna... sob! Kakaina: Oh don't be such a baby!

Outside the Blue Base.

Sarge: First my markswoman's rifle, NOW MY WARTHOG? Your Blue existence disgust me! Church: Well sorry, I've must've mistaken it for a trash disposal truck cause uh... it kinda look like one. HA! Sarge: Why you dirtbag... Ruby: You're such a nasty bunch! Simmons: Yeah and it took us four hours to get the smell off! Lopez: ¡Y otros seis para limpiar el motor!

Church is in the middle of argument with the entire Red team below him. Last night, Church pulled off a prank by throwing all of the base's trash on the warthog with the help of Caboose. The results of the Reds' reaction were, shall we say, astounding. Footsteps behind him caught his attention, it's about time Weiss got the whole team up here. Weiss approaches Church to ask about the situation as she puts on her helmet.

Weiss: What's the enemy's status? Church: Still pissed off.

Church points Weiss at the entire Red team below them. She looked down to see Grif and Simmons fully armed to the teeth with flamethrowers. Though what caught most of her attention is the Red with the red cape around his neck. Must be their sniper Church talked about. The one that trashed the base weeks ago. The way he's wearing that cape kinda reminded Weiss of 'her'. But that's not important right now.

Weiss: I see you brought enough firepower to bring this place to ruin again. Now what do you want? Sarge: We're here to have payback, not a tea party! If you don't come down here like real soldiers, we'll teach you with these fully customized fuel propalled flamethrowers filled with a special sauce me and the boys have cooked up. Delicious! Donut: And I even took the liberty to add a bit of 'pizzazz' on it. Weiss: Flamethrowers? I hate to break it to you, but 90% of this whole place is comprised of concrete and steel. How are you going to burn it down? Grif: Who says we're going to burn your place up? Simmons.

Grif and Simmons approach the old tank. Once their flamethrowers are at a proper range, they both pull the triggers. But instead of fire spewing out the muzzle, an unknown green substance is sprayed onto the tank.

Tucker: Paint? Yeah right, we can just wipe it off! Simmons:You might wanna turn your air filtration off. Blues: Uhm... okay?

The Blues raise their hands next to their helmets and push a small button at the side. Suddenly, a horrifying pungent smell stang their noses, burning up their senses. They all started coughing up and spitting as if they smelled something horrible before pushing the button again, turning their air filtration back on.

Weiss: BLAGH! Kakaina: My nose is FIRE! Caboose: YUCKY! Tucker: PFT! PFT! PFT! Oh my God, why did I spit in my helmet?! Church: YUCK! Jesus Christ that smelled horrible! What the hell is that stuff?! Simmons: Our 'special sauce'. A formula made out of your trash, rotten cheese, excrement, sweat from Grif's socks, the local plantlife, local alien skunk, all the smelly things one can expect to find around here. Grif: How's it feel to have a stench much worse your trash! Ruby: The process was digusting but it's worth it. Church: But... PFT... we can still wash it off... PFT... YUCK! Grif: Good luck with that! This smell will stick on you for weeks, possibly months! Sarge: Ready... aim... FI-

BANG!

Out of the blue, two bullets flew straight into Grif and Simmons' flamethrower canisters before big gasses of green smoke disperses into the air. The stink formula has been released! Ruby yelps and runs away from the stink gas as it engulfs her entire team, thankfully it hadn't touch her. The rest of the Red team on the other hand. Once it disappears, all five of them are covered in the smelly substance, now colored in a hint of green! EWW!

Weiss: Try washing that off, idiots! Ruby: Oh dear. Simmons: AAAHHHHHHH!!! IT'S ON US! IT'S ON US! THE CONTAMINATION!!! Grif: Well... shit. Donut: EWW EWW! I just mosturize myself! Lopez: ¿Por qué te estás volviendo loco? Es solo ... oh espera, cierto. No puedo oler Sarge: Damn you, Blues! You can shoot us, stab us, and mock us all you want, but you can never, EVER, sullied us like this! Except for you, Grif. Grif: Hey! Weiss: Using a substance for the purpose to sting your enemies' sense of smell is a terrible idea for chemical warfare. We have helmets, remember? Ruby: That's no way to treat my friends! Weiss: Excuse me, are you talking to me Red? Ruby: Yeah I'm talking to you... uhm... big meanie! How can you call yourself a soldier by sitting up there and mocking your opponents like a coward! Weiss: A coward?! Now you listen here...

Weiss turns to Church

Weiss: What's her name again? Church: Uhm... Rebec... Rebecca. Tucker: It's not Rebecca, it's Raina! I think. Caboose: RUH-ROH! Weiss: How can you guys forget a name? You all said you heard it! Kakaina: Not me, I was hanging out with a bunch of ODST guys that time. Man they were fun! Weiss: You disgust me. Church: It's been two fucking week! You can't expect us to memorize it everyday! Plus you interrogated Grif and Simmons, didn't they tell you? Caboose: Oh they didn't. They were too busy shivering in fear cause Weiss was always screaming at them. Weiss: Sigh. Follow me, all of you.

Weiss jumps down with the rest Blues following her and drops on the dirt in front of the Red team. Weiss the approaches the Red in the usual angry manner. While she gets mocked and teased all the time, she however does not tolerated being called a coward, even if it were by her own teammates.

Weiss: Now you listen to me very closely! I still don't forgive for what you did to my base. But you do not, DO NOT, mock my position as a soldier! Ruby: Look I wasn't trying to be rude or anything, I'm just saying that you shouldn't act like an 'ice queen' all the time. Simmons: Not only that, you're mentally unstable! Grif: Plus your voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard! Weiss: What?! My voice does not sound like that! Am I right guys? Church: With the exception of your singing. Caboose: That's always the good part! Tucker: HOOWEE! It's like hearing a thousand sexy angels coming down to hook up with me. Weiss: Thank you. Grif: Wait that was you singing that night? I thought you guys were listening to Casey Lee! Church: That was her singing Casey Lee, dumbass.

The talk between the teams gets silenced by the blast of Sarge's shotgun to the sky.

Sarge: We're here to fight! And these dirty Blues need to pay dearly for what they've done to us! Church: If you so much as touch us with that stench, I'll blast your head off! Sarge: You think me and my man would fight you in this disgusting state? Simmons: We're giving up? Sir, that ain't like you! Sarge: Of course not. But they'll be fighting... her!

Sarge points to Ruby who startswaving her hand friendly at the Blues.

Ruby: Hi!

The PTSD kicked in. Church, Tucker and Caboose gulped their throats and slowly moves away to the base's door. After what she did to the base, she's a force to be feared of in this canyon.

Weiss: Where are you guys going? She's just one Red! Church: Didn't you hear of what we told you? She's a MONSTER! Tucker: And a hot one too! Church: If you had been here, you could've seen how terrifying this bitch is! I mean look at those eyes!

A shot of Ruby's visor cueing the *Suspenseful stinger music*

RubyL What? Weiss: And I thought you all to be brave reliable soldiers, not a trio of cowardly conscripts. Oh wait, no offense. C'mon Kai, let's show her how the Blue army deals with Reds. Kakaina: Nah, I'm cool. Weiss: What?! Don't tell me you're scared too? Kakaina: Nah, I kinda feel two-on-one isn't a fair fight at all. It's just doesn't fit my 'code of honor'. Tucker: ... She'll only do it when it comes to having sex with hot babes. Kakaina: Her body is considered fuckable! Weiss: Ugh. Fine then, one on one it is! Sarge: That's the spirit! So what will it be? I suggest hand-to-hand combat! Ruby: Uhm, Sarge. I'm bad at close quarter combat, remember? Sarge: Oh right. Hmm, let's see. Aha! How about, Grif ball! Grif: There's only two players. Sarge: Dagnabbit! Sniper duel! Simmons: We're out of 14.5x114mm rounds, sir. Maybe the Blues can share- Church: Good luck with that. Your monster destroyed half our ammo supply, including all the sniper rounds! Sarge: Wrestling match? Donut: We don't have a wrestling ring. Tucker: And tight bikinis.

Everyone, mostly Ruby and Weiss, yells various comments of disgust at Tucker.

Tucker: Oh come on, don't female wrestlers wear that? Kakaina: Not in your "wrestling". Weiss: Hold on everyone! I think I know a good old fashion way can resolve this problem. Get two pistols!

The Reds and Blues gathered together at the middle of the field where the 'old traditional way' will take place. That is the old 19th century pistol duels. Sarge clears his throat before making an announcement to both teams.

Sarge: The rules are simple. Both opponents will only have one shot in their pistols. On a count of three, they must walk away from each other, back to back and after they finish ten paces of walking, they'll turn around and start shooting each other in the faces! Which I think we have a higher chance of winning. Ruby: You're too kind! Sarge" The first one able to shoot their opponent, be it knocking, injuring or killing them, will be declared the winner! Oh and there's a catch, both duelist must turn off their armors' energy shielding. If Red wins, the Blues will have no choice but to cover themselves and their base with the stink formula. A proper punishment for the Blues, buahaha! Church: And if we win, you'll have to cover your base with that shit too. Simmons: Wait a minute, does that include the interior? Church and Sarge: Yes. Donut: I just painted a new layer in my room! Oh, for God's sake, please win! Ruby: Don't worry Donut. I can shoot this jerk on the face with both my eyes close. Grif: Please don't do that. Sarge: One more thing. If both duelist missed their target, we'll have to restart the round again! Seconds, prepare your duelist!

Both teams prepare their duelist. As Caboose and Tucker get the M6 pistol ready and loaded, Church discuss Weiss about her plan to beat her Red adversary.

Church: So what's your plan? Weiss: Even with both our energy shieldings off, the armor will still protect me from 50 Magnum caliber rounds. Same with the helmet's visor, though it'll get a nasty crack. That's the good news. Church: The bad news? Weiss: The unarmored parts of my body are still exposed, mostly the neck area. If she shoots me at the neck, the shockwave of the round will rupture my jugular vein, killing me in an instant. Church: Can't you deflect bullets with your glyphs? Weiss: She'll see it the moment I summon it. You did say she's a sharpshooter right? It'd best not to underestimate her, just like last time. Church: What do you mean 'last time'?

Weiss kept quiet for a while before responding back.

Weiss: Best to keep it that way.

At the Red's place, Sarge discuss Ruby about her plan to beat the Blue menace.

Sarge: My best guess is the neck! The face is a good target but the helmet will still protect that dirty smirk of hers. Ruby: Nah too gruesome. Ooh! What about the arm? You said we can win by injuring them, right? Sarge: That's your decision, as long as I hear that Blue screaming. Grif: This is stupid! Sarge: I beg your pardon? Grif: Isn't this 'pistol duel' stuff old school? The last idea was a lot better. Ruby: EWW! Not you too! Donut: Hey at least they wear clothes in this! Lopez: Además, nadie tiene que masturbarse en secreto en este caso. Simmons: Okay everyone, the gun's lock and loaded. Sarge: Great! Now give her a good Texan payback!

Simmons hands the pistol to Ruby. With both duelist ready, they approach to one another with the pistols in their hands. Their teammates keep their distance away, leaving them alone to their pistol duel. Just when the match is about to start, Ruby raises her hand to Weiss as if to give out a handshake which in fact she does wants to. Weiss is confused of this.

Weiss: What are you doing? Ruby: Just in case if you shoot me first. Weiss: Why would I shake a Red's hand? Plus didn't you destroy my base week ago? Ruby: Yeah about that. Sorry. I wasn't able to control myself, but I'vefinally learned my lesson. Weiss: 'Sorry' isn't enough. And let's not forget the fact that we're still enemies. Ruby: But that doesn't mean we have to be 'real' enemies.  Even if we're here to kill each other, we should at least act like good duelists. Weiss: Well that's true. It would be impolite to refuse a handshake, even from an enemy.

Weiss accepts the handshakes. But once she touches the hand, it felt as though she once touched this hand before. Ruby had the same reaction when she touches hers too.

Ruby: That kinda felt weird. Weiss: Yeah. Before we can shoot each other, what's your name? Ruby: My name is- Sarge: Alright you two! Let's get this started! Ruby: Later. My leader's a bit impatient. Weiss: Same here. My team can't wait for your blood to be spilled. Maybe if we survive, we might talk a little. Ruby: GASP! Does that mean we can be friends! Weiss: No.

Ruby and Weiss turn each others backs, ready to start the duel. Sarge begins the countdown.

Sarge: One Mississipi... two Mississipi... THREE MISSISSIPI!!! Start walking!

Both of them started walking. Ruby counts the paces silently while Weiss counts them in her mind. One... two... three... four... five... It's almost close, Ruby thought. Even if she just had a friendly chat, she has to remember that's the Blue's her opponent and she's here to kill her. She must do the same. In order to win this, she'll need to think of her opponent's face as her's, her damn fucking face, that way she'll be able to pull the trigger! Six... seven... eight... Weiss tell herself that she can do this. Though confident, she was furious to witness the cape the Red's wearing because it reminds it of someone she knew. But she stays cool and reminds herself of the duel. Nine... ten...

RUBY AND WEISS TURNS AROUND AND BOTH PULL THE TRIGGERS SIMULTANEOUSLY!

BANG!!!

Both fell onto the ground. Red and Blue rush to their respective team members. They take a look at them, and noticed both their visors helmets' have entirely been cracked. Sarge is horrified to see his favourite soldier seemingly lying dead on the ground. Despite being covered in shit, he hold her body in his arms, before crying out in grief.

Sarge: NOOOOOO!!! Don't you die on me! You still haven't gotten next week's promotion for destroying the Blue base! Simmons: Wait isn't next week my promotion? Sarge: It's been rescheduled. Talk to me! SPEAK TO ME! Grif: Huh, guess she's dead. Welp, off to get the shovels. Ruby: Ow... (muffled) Sarge: Scratch that, she's alive! Thank the Lord himself! Grif: Fuck. Donut: Ruby, are you okay? Ruby: I've... been through worse. Ow! (muffled) Donut: Uhm... come again?

The Blue's reaction on the other hand, wasn't as dramatic as the Reds.

Caboose: Are you okay?! How big is the boo-boo? Weiss: Just a minor bruise, that's all. Nothing to worry about. A little help? (muffled) Caboose: ... Church, I think I'm deaf. Church: You're not deaf! Something's wrong with her helmet!

He's right. The visors have gone yellow to black, same with the Red's. The HUD's memory card slot isn't emitting any light, indicating no electricity in there. The helmets have gone dark! Weiss tries to take it off, but the helmet is locked onto her undersuit's fabric nmagnetic locks.

Weiss: Church, what's going on? I can't take it off! (muffled) Church: Calm down. Your helmet must've been damaged. Weiss: What? (muffled) Church: I said your helmet's damaged! Weiss: Oh, what? Damn it, speak up! (muffled) Church: YOUR... HELMET'S... DAMAGED! Weiss: ... Church ... Weiss: Then why didn't you say so? Get this thing off me! (muffled) Church: What? Weiss: Get this thing off me! (muffled) Church: Shit, now I can't hear her. Caboose, help me out!

Church and Caboose grab the side of Weiss' helmet.

Church: Heave ho!

They pulled it together and successfully removed the damn thing on Weiss with the sound of a pop. Weiss heavily breathes in the air around her. Wearing that unfunctional helmet almost gave her an asphyxiation.

Church: You okay? Weiss: Next time... I'm buying a new helmet. What about the Red, is she dead? Church: Well... you're not the only one with a stuck helmet. Weiss: You've gotta be joking.

The Blues witness the Reds attempting to remove their recruit's helmet. They're having a hard time. Four of the Reds are trying to pull the helmet off as Ruby tries to push it. Lopez also helps them, prying it off with a crowbar on the back of her neck. With one last heave, the helmet finally came off. Ruby breathes in and out like a fish in a water.

Ruby: Oh sweet cool air! Sarge: How are you feeling? Ruby: Fine!

As she recovers, she noticed Weiss, now helmetless approaching her. She must've had the same problem as she did. And the other news, her opponent's hand is unscathed. Oh no, she thought to herself. She has hesitated again. Oh well, she can try again in round two.

Weiss: I'm impressed. I expect you to shoot me by the neck. Ruby: Yeah, I got a little hesistant that time. If I were thinking of someone I would have... easily... shoot... you? Weiss: Well try not too this time. Come on let's start the... next... round... oh my God.

Upon seeing each other's face, the world felt into a silence. Even the rest of the Reds and Blues didn't mutter a word when they noticed their teammates making a godly shocked expressions at one another.

Caboose: Ooh! Are we playing the quiet game? I love playing this!

Well except for Caboose, that is.

Weiss: R-Ruby? Ruby: W-W-Weiss? Weiss: What are you...? Ruby: What are you...?

They kissed. WROOOONG!!! Both girls smash their heads together like two mountain goats. They start growling at each other with wrathful looks forming on their faces and their eyes that are making contact with each other are filled with extreme hostility! As if you eyes were being deceived, their bodies begin to glow bright.

Weiss: What are you doing here YOU UNDISCIPLINED BRAT!!! Ruby: And what are you doing here YOU BACKSTABBING JERK!!! Everybody: Hah? Huh? Wha?

Reds and Blues are completely confused if what they're seeing right now. Just now they were dueling each other like gentlewomen, and now they're growling at each other like rabid dogs! Not only that, THEY KNOW EACH OTHER?!?!

Grif: Okay can anyone explain what the fuck's happening? Kakaina: Do... they know each other? Tucker: I think they do. Caboose: Wow, Church! Weiss has a best friend! Church: Had. I doubt they're friends, right now. Simmons: Sir, what do we do? Sarge: Nothing! I wanna see how this goes!

Back to Ruby and Weiss.

Weiss: It's no wonder why that cape and touch felt so familiar! IT WAS YOU!!! Of all the thousand planets in the galaxy, I've been deployed here only to see YOU HERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BOX CANYON WITH THE RED ARMY!!! Ruby: I expected to be away from you, FOREVER AND EVER! Until you showed your EGOISTIC COWARDLY FACE OF YOURS HERE!!! Weiss: I AM NOT EGOISTIC AND COWARDLY! I was ordered to move! Ruby: 'CAUSE YOU CARE ONLY FOR YOUR CAREER MORE THAN YOUR BEST FRIENDS! Weiss: AND YOU FAILED TO CARRIED OUT YOUR ORDERS! IT WOULD'VE ENDED DIFFERENTLY IF YOU HAD LISTEN TO WHAT THEY SAID, YOU SCYTHE SWINGING BITCH! Ruby: Boohoo! Daddy, a peasent girl like me is being bullied by a mean Ms. Rich Gal! Weiss: Is that an INSULT?! Ruby: As a matter of fact, YES!

Weiss had enough, she punches Ruby right at the nose with blood spewing the nostrils! Despite the tears flowing and nose bleeding, Ruby quickly recovered and give Weiss a nasty uppercut to the chin! Then they grabbed each other, trying to pin the other to the ground, but they were equally matched and none had yet bring the other down. This is starting to become pure entertainment for Reds and Blues, mostly Sarge and Tucker. Been a while since Tucker had last saw a good catfight.

Tucker: That's right Weiss baby! Keep them fists flying! Sarge: Don't let that dirty albino Blue pin you down! Swing the legs, the legs! Grif: Wow, this is a lot better then the last duel! I'm betting for the white haired chick. Tucker: The brunette! Kaikaina: Red haired chick! Caboose: Fight! Fight! Fight!

Some however were not so keen to seeing this fight.

Church: Should we stop them? Donut: Of course! Ruby's going to get herself killed! Church: Why worry? She launched a one man war on our base, I guess she'll be fine. Simmons: What about your recruit? Church: Good point. But I'm not going near that psychopath! Lopez: ¿Qué tal si agarramos a Ruby primero y luego obtendrás el tuyo? Simmons: How about we grab Ruby first, and then you'll get yours? Church: Good idea. Lopez: Eso es exactamente lo que acabo de decir.

Simmons and Donut, quickly grabs her before she could bite Weiss' throat off. Despite two men holding her, they couldn't hold their grip as she violently tries to wriggle off them to finish her business with her "friend". Thankfully, Lopez was around and restrains her with his mechanical strength.

Ruby: Let go of me! She's EVIL INCARNATE! Donut: Please, Ruby, control yourself! Ruby: You don't understand she... left... sniff sniff... hehehe...

Ruby forget she's not wearing her helmet anymore, thus leaving her nose vunerable to her team's smelly state, causing her to barf out her breakfast.

Grif: That solves our problem!

Seeing the oppurtunity, Weiss charges at her unconscious enemy, but was stopped once Church grabs her shoulders.

Weiss: Let go off ME! Church: Calm down will you! Weiss: I WILL NOT... sniff... oh no... UGH!...

Weiss too have fallen victim to the Red's stink formula, fainting on Church's chest. The Blues sighed in relief. Church hands Weiss to Caboose and carries her unconscious body on his shoulder. The Reds and Blues then looked at each other for a while. With Ruby and Weiss both now out of commision, I think it's time to call it a day.

Church: This was a fun day. Well see you assholes tomorrow. Sarge: Where do you think you're going? Round 2 hasn't ended yet! Grif, give Ruby your helmet. Grif: I'm not getting knocked out too! Sarge: Or would you prefer the old shotgun to the face? Simmons: Sir, there's no need to 'cause...

Sarge turned to see the Blues no longer in front of them. They already left before he notices.

Sarge: Dagnabbit.

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/necroceph

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

A Memory Of The Smell of Smoke, Ch 5.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: Everyone liked to pretend that Campbell had been born bad. That their fear and hatred were logical, rational, justified, because Campbell was a monster incapable of making the choice between good and evil. Because he couldn’t feel the way they did. Well, fuck that. He was gonna prove them wrong. At least, that had been the plan.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, Emotional Baggage, Mental Health Issues, Child Abuse, Substance Abuse, Animal Death, Complicated Relationships, Pre-Slash, Denial of Feelings, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Implied Rape, Campbell has mild ASPD and is self aware enough to try and be better, the non-con is NOT Campbell, didn’t add an official warning because it is the aftermath only, yes it is the party becca mentioned and there will be a warning in the notes of that chapter, Campbell/Harry, Campbell/Elle.

Word Count: 4601 (chapter 5/5).

Ch 1 || Ch 2 || Ch 3 || Ch 4 || AO3

Then again, they do say that things get worse before they get better.

For  whatever reason, Becca stopped talking to Campbell. He tried to text her to see if she was alright, but his number was blocked. He tried to talk to her, but she kept on walking. It would have been all too easy to  get pissed off over it, but he shrugged and carried on with life. Perhaps she was embarrassed, or ashamed. Perhaps she wanted to pretend it never happened. Maybe it had been a really bad high. Who knew? But she wanted nothing to do with him, either way, and he didn't waste his time on people that obviously wanted him gone. Caring cost too much energy for that.

The end of the school year play was an adaptation of the film Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead.  Cassandra, of course, decided to try out. It was more surprising that Harry tried out, too. Naturally, they both got the lead roles. And why wouldn't they? Cassandra had always been an amazing actress, and now that Harry had cleaned up his image to make himself the cute goody-two-shoes co-captain of the debate team in order to be more appealing to Kelly, it made sense that he'd charm his way in.

Campbell  didn't need to worry about that. He got recruited to help with the set,  and that was fine. It was something to pass the time, as always, and  Elle was often there to help with choreography. It was a nice, long  distraction. By the time rehearsals were over, they had two weeks left  until prom and three until graduation; it was so close to being over that Campbell could taste it, and damn it was good. The play itself would shave one week off, and everyone would be too busy going bananas over prom that they wouldn't have time for much idle gossip.

Perfect.

Or,  at least, it would have been perfect. Just before the opening night of  the play, something began to smell. Literally. Campbell was hanging out  with a few of the drama club kids he'd met through the play, the five of  them sharing a few orders of fries after a long day of getting the  stage ready for the big event. They were on their way out when Campbell  caught a whiff of what smelled like rotting flesh. He gagged, covering  his nose with his sleeve, and soon the other teen were coughing as well.

"What  the fuck is that?" demanded Elaine, a chunky girl with bright pink  hair, ripped jeans, and an MCR shirt. "Jesus christ, Henry, I told you  not to go for the chili fries."

Henry, a scrawny blond, made a noise of complaint. "It's not me!"

"The  wind is coming from the northeast," Campbell interrupted as everyone began to blame each other. "It's probably in the wood somewhere. A sewer  leak or something."

Everyone quieted down and agreed, but the  smell only got worse and worse as the evening went on. The next morning,  Campbell and Sam came downstairs to find their living room filled up  with people. Their parents, Harry's mother, Aunt Amanda and Uncle Jim, a  few other influential members of town... and in front of them all,  their other uncle, Rogers. Frequently heard blustering on about some  damn thing, usually something racist, he wasn't anyone Campbell had any  desire to be around. But there he was, shouting about the smell and what  to do about it.

Campbell tuned it all out and made breakfast for  himself, slipping out the door and heading to school before he was  noticed. The smell was, in fact, terrible. Students were whispering  theories to each other all day. Campbell heard that the smell was a dead  whale washed up on the coast and the wind was carrying the smell, that  it was a terrorist attack, that it was ghosts coming to haunt the town  for some misdeed, it was meth gone wrong... But in the end, there were  no answers. Just a constant, unyielding reek that seemed to be coming  from everywhere.

At the very least, the first night of the play  went off without a hitch. Even if it smelled like a dead skunk basted  with cow farts outside, Cassandra and Harry were beautiful, witty, and  gave a flawless performance. No one really payed attention to the fact  that there was a town meeting among the adults the next day; Campbell  overheard his mother talking to his father about it, and how Uncle  Rogers had contacted some guy named Pfeiffer to get rid of the smell.

Campbell  flopped on Harry's bed as Harry dug around his closet for a suit to  wear to prom. "Who the hell has a job in smell removal? Is that a  thing?"

"Don't know, and who cares? As long as I can go back to  eating without everything tasting faintly like septic tank, that's all I  care about."

Whatever the Pfeiffer guy was about, the day after  the town meeting, the smell did vanish as quickly as it had come. For  short time, things went back to normal. Campbell stayed home-- you've  seen one night in a play, you've seen them all, in his opinion-- to cook  mushroom carbonara while everyone else was out. If nothing else, he  knew how to make a good pan of noodles, and it gave him time to think  about asking Elle to prom. A sort of asinine affair, something he and  Cassandra agreed on, but it was the last big thing of high school. Maybe  it was worth a shot.

On the last night of the play, the smell  returned. It was even worse than before, so strong that it stung their  eyes and made some of the younger kids choke; the adults called yet  another emergency meeting, and this time, it was decided that the EPA  would be contacted. Until then, all students 16 and over would be sent  away on a camping trip until the smell was removed. An exciting prospect  in Campbell's mind, considering his family had never been camping his  whole life. A whole weekend in the middle of nowhere? Roasting  marshmallows, hiking, swimming, freaking Allie out with spooky stories?  Cool.

"Mom and dad wanted to know if you got your toothbrush,"  Sam signed as they stood on the school lawn, everyone waiting for the  buses to pick them up. "Did you?"

"Tell them to get fucked."

Sam  stared. Campbell forced a cheerful smile and headed off to go wait  elsewhere. He was standing at the curb when he heard someone  approaching; he turned his head, ready to tell Sam to leave him alone,  when Campbell realized it was Grizz heading his way. He was pale, his  gait fast and jaw tight as he glanced around. Huh. Weird. The football  player never really seemed nervous about much.

"Hey Campbell," Grizz greeted. "I have a question for you."

"I'm flattered, but I'm already asking someone to prom."

Narrowing his eyes, Grizz glared at him. "Hey. No, it's... Did you tag the wall of the church last night?"

"What?" Campbell blinked. "I'm no fan of Christianity, but no. I didn't tag the church with anything. Why?"

"Just wondering. There's some creepy Bible quote on one of the outside walls. Just thought maybe you'd know something about it."

"Someone's probably just dicking with us, man."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

There  wasn't much time to debate it. Cassandra and her gaggle joined them at  the curb, all of them eagerly chattering at Grizz, who seemed to be the  group Boy Scout and everyone wanted camping advice. Five school buses  pulled up soon after, and everyone began to pile on. One of the few  places left on the bus was next to Elle; she had a look on her face that  was positively icy, but he decided to take the chance anyways.

Campbell rested his hand on the seat and nodded to the empty space next to her. "Hey, I'm Campbell. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Elle glanced up at him. She didn't smile, didn't speak, but she shrugged a little and moved over enough to make room.

"Excited for the trip?"

"Not especially. I prefer indoor plumbing. You?"

"I don't know. It might be an adventure."

"An adventure, huh? From what I hear, you make plenty of your own excitement."

"Oh? Where'd you hear that?"

"I just pay attention."

Campbell  leaned a little closer. She didn't flinch away, but she was watching him with a cautious intensity he hadn't seen from many others before. "It's too bad we've been going to school together all this time, and never really talked, don't you think?"

"What is there for us to talk about?"

"Dance, maybe. How many years did you do ballet before you moved here?"

"You know about that?"

"I pay attention, too."

That earned him the tiniest of smirks. "Okay, smartass. What else do you know about me?"

"Your  family moved here from New York when you were about twelve. You tried to make friends with Lexie and her goon squad, but they ignored you and  ever since then you've kinda just been alone. You spend most of your time reading, or playing the piano."

"Piano."

"Junior year, we had math together and Gelstein let us listen to music during tests." Campbell placed his fingers on the back of the seat in front of  him, moving them along like he was tapping on invisible keys. "You'd move your fingers along to the music, but you thought no one noticed because you sat in the back."

"Ohh, you've got a good eye. Yeah, I can play the piano. But I feel like that's cheating a little. You sat right next to me."

"That's true. I also know that you eat all the green M&Ms first, and that is not something I found out sitting next to you."

Elle leaned back and arched her eyebrows. "You know, some people might considered that level of observation a little creepy."

"Do you think it is?"

"I don't know yet."

"Think you'll know in time for prom?"

"Well, how about this." She was smiling now, and the corners of her eyes crinkled a little. "Ask me when this trip is over."

A  fair enough deal. They spent the rest of the morning discussing music,  art, and entertainment; Campbell had to stop and let Elle ramble from time to time, though he noticed she did the same and wondered if it was  for the same reason. He wasn't used to talking, to the point where he was getting winded. They had similar enough tastes, as far as modern music was concerned, and a similar view on politics. He liked modern dance, while she liked the more traditional forms, but it was still a shared interest.

They continued talking until the sun set and the bus fell silent, with students falling asleep as the bus ride continued well into the night. Elle slumped over near midnight, resting  her head on his shoulder. She yawned, content. "This is fun. How come we've never talked before?"

"I don't know." Campbell allowed her to nestle close. He wanted to stroke her hair, but he kept his hands to  himself. He didn't want to scare her by being too much, too fast. "I guess I was scared to approach you."

"Why?"

"Because you're pretty, and I'm trouble."

Ella closed her eyes, voice muffled as she drifted off to sleep. "Maybe I'm trouble, too."

Cute,  but it was hard to imagine. Not because she was a girl or because she was small-- he'd seen a 4'11" girl take down a two hundred and fifty pound football player with one well aimed kick to the dick-- but because  he'd never heard a single bad word about her from anyone who mattered.  Well, who knew. Maybe she had a rap sheet from back home in New York.  Campbell smiled a little, falling asleep himself soon after.

He  had no clue how much time had passed when the school bus jerked to a halt. He stirred, blinking as the lights on the bus flickered back on. Everyone was murmuring, trying to figure out what was going on. Were they there? It was supposed to be a twelve hour ride, including breaks along the way, but they had left at three in the evening and the time on  his phone said it was only a little past one in the morning.

"Change of plans," the bus driver said. His tone was flat. Bored. "Rock slides. The road is closed. You're back home."

The  murmurs turned into sounds of disbelief. Campbell stood as the bus doors opened, making his way out along with everyone else. He stopped on  the school lawn, and stared out into the darkness; there was no one there, no one besides the other students, and the weird smell was gone.  It couldn't have been fixed that fast. The useless government never did  anything fast, and it hadn't even been a full day yet.

"The fuck," he muttered as the buses all pulled away and left. "What is this?"

Ella stood next to him, frowning. "Strange. That's what."

Everyone  began texting, calling. Campbell tried his father's number, knowing Sam  was probably going to call their mother. It rang, and didn't stop ringing. No answer. No voicemail, even. He glanced around. He could see  the worry and panic on everyone else as they seemed to be reaching similar results. No one was answering. Something was obviously wrong. With the smell gone, he wondered if it really had been a gas leak, and now everyone was fucking dead. Only one way to know for sure.

Plastering  a smile on his face, Campbell looked to Sam and shrugged like it was no  big deal. Make it seem like everything was fine. No need to freak out  and start some kind of mass riot. "Well, I'm going home."

Sam  grabbed his arm. His eyes were wide, and he was obviously at that freak  out point already. "You're not going to wait for me?" he whispered, not  bothering to even sign.

Campbell made a quick sign. "Hurry up, then."

He  kept walking, and soon enough he heard footsteps trailing behind him. They walked in silence for a bit, before Sam signed to him. "Where do you think our parents are?"

"Home. Asleep."

"Do you think that's all?"

"Yeah." Campbell didn't believe it for a second, but Sam didn't need to know that right then. "Probably."

When  they made it home, the cars were still there. All the lights were out inside. Campbell went in first, calling out to their parents, but there  was no answer. Campbell and Sam exchanged a look; Sam's lips pursed, knowing without any words passing between them what the look meant. They  were alone. Campbell searched downstairs, then headed upstairs. He  didn't even care that Sam was right on his heels. It meant that they could both confirm at the same time that they were, in fact, alone in the house.

"No note," Sam said. "No message on the phone. Where could they be?"

Campbell  frowned. He didn't have a damn clue what to tell his brother, but then  their phones both began to blow up. Campbell looked at his, hoping for  the first time in forever that it was their parents, but it was Harry.  His mother was gone. Kelly's parents, too. No one could reach anyone, and their data was all knocked out.

Probably from the storm, Campbell texted back.

Yeah, Harry answered, and did the storm take all our parents too?

A  good question. Suddenly he had texts from Elle and Cassandra, even Allie, asking where he and Sam were and could they find anyone. Cassandra finally texted for the two of them to meet her and everyone else back at the school. ASAP.

"Are you gonna go?" Sam asked.

It  wasn't even really worth thinking about. Of course he was going to go,  if only so he could get some idea of where things were heading. People  were gonna start wigging out, and Campbell knew history well enough to  know that a bunch of teenagers alone and afraid never meant anything good. And maybe someone, somewhere, had actually found something. Campbell nodded to Sam, and they both headed out to meet with Cassandra.  

By the time they got to the school, a crowd had formed. Not  everyone, and mostly seniors, but enough for Campbell to know it'd get  ugly if the impromptu meeting didn't go well. Elle was there; she came  over and stood at his side, one arm crossed in front of her chest and  the other tangled up in her hair, her bottom lip pouting out a little.  She opened her mouth to speak, but then someone else-- one of the  football players, loud and brash-- yelled out.

"Who decided we needed a flash mob?"

Cassandra stepped out of the shadows. She stood on the other side of Campbell, pulling herself tall. "I did."

"What the fuck, Cassandra?"

"Better  than 200 people sending texts. Has anyone been able to reach anyone?" she asked. The crowd was either silent, or mumbled a negative. "No one?  Okay. Well, there's... there's definitely a simple explanation."

A voice Campbell didn't recognize yelled out. "Like what?"

"Um.  They, uh." Cassandra glanced at Campbell. He said nothing, hell, he didn't even move; if anyone thought he was influencing her, they'd never  listen. "They were evacuated, after we left. And there was a miscommunication, and we were brought back here by mistake."

"Someone would still answer a phone," Kelly pointed out.

"Maybe  they're asleep. I don't know, maybe they some place with no reception.  They're in a shelter with... with no reception, or something. In the morning, someone will answer a phone."

Goddamn  it. Cassandra, cool and collected Cassandra, was losing it. Standing  this close to her, Campbell could tell that she was shaking. Not much,  but enough that Campbell felt a spark of worry. They were supposed to be  the reasonable ones. Cassandra was valedictorian, disliked and  unpopular but vocal and well-known in their senior class. If Cassandra  lost it, the rest wouldn't be far behind.

"Maybe it's not safe for us to be here, if they all left."

"A  couple hours isn't gonna make a difference. We'll figure this all out in the morning. Right now, we should just... uh, go home. Yeah, we should go home. And anyone who doesn't want to, uh, be alone can come back to our house. Right?"

Allie smiled when Cassandra looked to her. "Sure."

"Is that your advice, Cassandra?"

It  had to be Harry that challenged her. Campbell cursed under his breath,  and resisted the urge to strangle him. Cassandra and Harry always had been rivals, butting heads over everything and fighting for power at every turn, with Cassandra usually emerging victorious. But what about now, when people were scared and tensions were climbing?  

"Yeah. Yeah, Harry, yeah, just go to sleep."

Harry  rolled his eyes, but people began to disperse. Well, some people. The majority stayed put, hovering around closer to Harry and the jock brigade; they were whispering about the local liquor store, and Campbell  took the moment to sidle over to Cassandra while everyone else seemed  distracted.

"Do you honestly believe any of that?" he wondered, lowering his voice.

Cassandra  shook her head. She took a breath, but it was already all too clear that she was out of her depth. "I have to, right now. It won't do any good tonight to think about it too much. We need to all go home, get some rest, and see what tomorrow brings."

"You know as well as I do that if we don't start preparing for the worst now, tomorrow it's gonna hit and this whole place is gonna go all Lord of the Flies."

"What the hell do you think happened?"

"Cassie, haven't you noticed anything else, besides our missing families?"

"The smell."

"Yeah, the smell. How are you gonna explain that to them? Or did the smell go to a shelter with no reception, too?"

Biting  her lip, Cassandra looked at the crowd gathering around Harry. Before she could say anything else, Allie came prancing up, a cheeky smile on her face. "Cassandra. Campbell." His name was said like it was something  disgusting, and her smile hardened just a bit. "I guess the guys are  planning to raid the liquor store and have a party. Coming?"

"Really?" Cassandra sighed. "No way. I'm going to head home and try to figure this out. Please don't burn anything down."

Allie  grinned and made her way back to her friends. Cassandra, Gordie, and their friend Bean headed off towards home. Campbell knew it'd be for the  best to just leave, but he could see that Sam was staying, and Elle was  watching him expectantly. Harry was waving them both over, and Campbell  sighed. Might as well. Despite how bizarre it all was, the idea of not  having to race home by ten and play Good And Normal Son with his parents  was appealing.

"What was that about?" Elle asked. Her tone was light, but her eyes were sharp. "With you and Cassandra?"

"Oh, just cousin bickering. How about this party, huh?"

It  started as just a bunch of them hanging out on the front yard of the church, with beers getting passed around. Campbell and Elle camped out in a quieter corner, each with their own drink. But within fifteen minutes, Clark had discovered that the church doors were open. It seemed  wrong. So, so very wrong. That's what made it fun. Campbell smirked as  people texted their friends, brought more liquor, and rigged up some  music. The air was just vibrating with bass and the cheers of about a  hundred drunk, high teenagers. It was blasphemous, and oh, they were all loving it.

"Can  you imagine the looks on their faces?" Campbell laughed with Elle as he  downed another cup of alcohol. "Those stuck up fucks would piss  themselves."

Elle answered, but her voice was muffled. Far away.  His vision was dimmer around the edges and he felt good; he grabbed Elle  by the hand and led her out to where people were dancing. Harry's  shitty little pity parties had never appealed to him much, and certainly  not the stiff swaying back and forth of school dances with their  parent-approved music, but this? This was something new, different. They  could do anything and they weren't going to get caught. Not yet. The cats were away, and they were all a bunch of fucking rats  ready to play.

At least, that's what Campbell thought, but after  people started pouring beers off the second story, Elle retreated into  an empty stairway. Campbell followed. A bad idea, in hindsight, but  they'd been having a good time. Hadn't they? She had tucked herself into  a corner, wiping beer off her skin and wringing it from her hair;  Campbell stepped closer, smiling.

"I don't know, I think you look kinda hot this way."

Elle didn't look at him. "Yeah, well, I don't really care what anyone else thinks right now."

"Hey.  Why are you spoiling all the fun?" Campbell asked. She didn't say anything, just giving him an irritated look. "Is it like a ballerina thing? Act all cold? Is that..."

Without a word, she tried to push past him. Campbell grabbed her arm, but she spun around and fixed him with a glare. "Seriously?"

Campbell blinked. He didn't know exactly what was happening, but she was angry, and he let go of her arm.  She kept walking, heading towards the exit. He sighed, mumbling under  his breath so she wouldn't hear. "Your loss."

Everything after  that was mostly a very long blur, ending in a wall of black. Not something he'd done in a while, getting completely wasted, and not something he was eager to repeat when he woke up the next morning with a  throbbing headache. Light hurt, sound hurt. The worst part was that he  just barely remembered what happened with Elle.

"Shit," he groaned as his phone blasted him with full brightness. Still, he managed to tap out a text to her. I'm sorry about last night. I'm an asshole and I was drunk. Forgive me? "Send."

It  was the best he could do at that second. Campbell dragged himself out of bed, stumbling downstairs where Sam was making breakfast. Sam glanced  at him, flipping some bacon. Campbell wanted to gag at the smell, but  there was a small stack of toasted Eggo waffles on the counter, and he  snagged one of those.

"No parents," Sam signed. "No calls or anything."

Campbell  just waved his hand and sunk his face into his arm. He figured. There hadn't been any furious screaming about the state of the church, after all. Sam sat down at the table, and Campbell raised his head enough to watch him for a moment. Now that he was sober, he was back to being able  to read people. He could see on Sam's face that Sam was scared. He kept  eyeing Campbell, then looking away, and shifting like his body just  didn't want to sit still. His body was turned away. Closed off. Insecure. He didn't like being alone with Campbell.

Well, who did anymore, really?

His phone buzzed. He hoped it was Elle, but it was from Harry. Campbell tapped on the notification, and stared at the text. Get to the bridge. NOW.

Sam's phone went off next. "Becca wants me at the bridge outside of town."

Please, a second text read. I'm scared.

Harry  had never said that, not in all the years they'd been friends. Campbell  stuffed another waffle in his mouth, and threw on his flannel shirt.  "Let's go."

It took almost twenty minutes to jog there. Sam kept  up, thankfully. Campbell wasn't about to wait around when Harry was  reduced to begging. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his stomach  more than ever. The closer he got, the more he could see there was a  small crowd formed. Cassandra, Allie, Becca, Will. Gordie, Bean, Kelly.  Luke, Clark, Grizz, Harry. Helena. Sam went to his friends, who were  sitting by the railing of the bridge; Campbell went to Harry, who was  crowded around his far with the jocks and Helena.

"What's going on?" Campbell hissed, pulling Harry off to the side. "You look ready to pass the fuck out."

Harry  just pointed. Campbell followed the line of sight. Trees. Trees had completely demolished the train tracks leading out of town. They just...  ended. Campbell went to turn back to Harry, and noticed the same thing  had happened to the road, too. He rubbed his eyes; maybe he was still  drunk, or someone had slipped him something. But no. It was like a wall  of forest.

Harry spoke, only just audible. "It's like that the  whole way around." He was breathing faster, his voice trembling faintly.  "We tried the internet, Bean tried to call 911. Nothing. There's no one  out there. We're trapped."

Campbell reached out, resting his  hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry leaned into the touch ever so slightly.  Adults and the younger kids, gone. The smell, gone. A natural barrier,  cutting them off from every escape route, and they were-- for the  moment-- alone. How? He couldn't fathom, but how didn't  exactly matter at the moment. What mattered was that this was reality.  Somehow, some way, they were going to have to survive it.

They were worse than trapped.

They were completely, truly, screwed.

[imaginemycroftholmes]

@grand-admiral-luna

“No one can know about her,” Moriarty fussed to his loyal sidekick Sebby, the Terror Tiger, looked unfazed by the declaration from his boss.

This wasn’t something new to him considering their gigs as superheroes for the greater part of London.

As Pyro Professor and Terror Tiger they constantly battled with the evil masterminds such as Ice Man, Purple Pirate or even worse, tango with their favorite henchman, Captain Action.

It was always a game of cat and mouse as the lone duo tried to rid the city of their influence and control while managing to evade arrest. A deed, most annoying slow considering Mycroft Holmes aka Ice Man had his hand in the pockets of every major business and authority.

To have their own sibling Eurus as their mole was a blessing the city couldn’t afford to lose as she had a watchful eye on both her brothers evil schemes. 

“Boss, if the Ice Man and Purple Pirate haven’t caught onto our real identities by now then I don’t think we have to worry about it,” Sebby rationalizes to Jim, “I mean they still won’t come to terms that the Holmes brothers are villains so why worry about us?”

“Because if they figure out who we are our families will be in danger,” Jim stresses, “They  could be used as bait or worse!”

 This isn’t the first time that Jim had gone off like this about his sister _____ after a difficult foiling of the dastardly duo but this is one of the few times it was too close for comfort.

However, being an orphan of war Sebastian can’t imagine what it feels like to lose someone but if its anything by the way Jim acts he know it can’t be good.

Not one of them could figure out why or how ______ kept ending up near their battles but it was starting  to put Jim on edge and when Jim is on edge then he’s crawling up his back with complaints that makes him want to claw off the backs of the infamous Holmes brothers just to make Jim stop crying.

And he just got his titanium claws resharpened just for the occasion. 

Watching and (tuning out) his boss’s ramblings about keeping his sister safe Sebastian turns his attention to the big screen showing off the city’s zones praying for a distraction when a cellphone rings.

“I’m holding out for a hero! I’m holding out for a hero until the morning's light..”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Jim was surrounded by some of his most dangerously sensitive bombs-the ones that only required just a light pressure to set off- Sebastian might have found it funny how he fumbled for his phone to answer it. 

With his cat-like reflexes he swooped in to drag the the nervous man from dropping his device on what would be an instant death for them both and answered the phone for him.

“Hello?”

“Sebby,” comes an excited voice from the other line, “It’s great to hear you! How has the canning business going with you two lately?”

Sebastian winces both at the moniker that ____ picked up from her brother and the fact that she still believes that lie.

How anyone believes that lie is beyond him but then again, people still can’t believe that Sherlock Holmes is the Purple Pirate DESPITE WEARING THE SAME OUTFIT EACH TIME BUT ONLY PURPLE. THERE’S NO MASK TO OBSCURE HIS FACE OR HAIR BUT WHEN HE TRIES TO SHOW PEOPLE THAT THEY THINK HE’S “CRAZY”.

But thanks to his ever witty and not good with lies on the spot partner the first thing that came out of his mouth for their nightly activities is starting a canning business and they’re in a relationship.

Needless to say, this puts a damper on his dating life but for the life of him Sebastian doesn’t have the heart to cheat on Jim for fear of _____’s private version of “You hurt him and I’ll make sure you have a 4 year slow death in the backyard tool shed back in Sussex where no one can hear you scream.”

If ______ is anywhere near as bad as Moriarty Sebastian doesn’t want to be on her bad side. 

“Yeah, its going great _____,” Sebastian says convincingly while shooting a glare at Jim who is piteously trying to reach for his phone, “So what are you up to sunshine?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” she continues with enthusiasm, “You see, I met this guy...”

“You met a guy you say,” Sebastian parrots loudly knowing good and well that it would send her brother into a rage.

“A GUY?? WHO IS HE?? SEB! GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE!”

It really shouldn’t bring Sebastian as much joy as it does but Jim jumping desperately to retrieve his phone but it does and he continues to torment him.

“So what? you want me and Jim to meet him,” Sebastian carries on causally like Jim isn’t trying to scale him.

And failing.

“Yeah, actually. I’ve kinda been seeing him for over 2 months now and want him to get acquainted with you guys because I might be bringing him home for Christmas this year,” she states with more confidence than her brother wearing spandex tights.

“Ya know that’s a pretty big step in a relationship right?”

“I know,” _____ agrees, “But this guy is just so right for me that I don’t feel like its too big of  deal.”

  ‘Yeah I know,” Sebastian concedes, “But you know that your brother is going to have kittens right?”

“Well, that’s why I want you to come with. Nothing can settle someone down like their spouse am I right?”

“Spouse...right...”

“Speaking of which is my brother around?”

Looking around and finding that Jim had skunked off somewhere was alarming.The guy never gave up that easily which was why he was the Purple Pirate’s favorite target. 

“I think he may have ran to the loo-” Sebastian tries to say before an image of terror, Moriarty running full speed with one of his guns toward him with a battle cry of “GIVE ME MY PHONE” being heard throughout the hide out. 

“No, wait! ____, here he is,” Sebastian cries as he throws the device at Jim and runs for cover.

The phone is quickly caught by Jim who purrs his hellos to her and then promptly hangs up.

Sebastian doesn’t have to turn around from his hiding spot to know that its Moriarty standing behind him. His voice is dark and deadly as he leans closer.

“You tease me like that again when ______ is calling and I’ll clip those claws permanently.” 

“Yes boss,” Sebastian responds carefully knowing that when Jim is in one these moods that his life can very well be in forfeit because for all of Jim’s silliness he was a damn genius with an affinity for violence and murder. 

He could only shudder of what horrors Moriarty would unleash if he had not been on the side of angels.

“So, when are we meeting him?”

“Next Tuesday at 6″, Jim spats coldly, ‘And you had better not make us late.”

“You know that’s not my faul-” Sebastian says defensively until he sees the look of murder in his boss’s eyes. “I mean, sure boss,” he corrects himself, “are you going to use Eurus to spy on the bloke?”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I want to know the scum who’s shacking up with my sister? I want to know who he is, what he does and what he shits to see if he’s good enough for her! I wanna maul the guy with all the dirt I have on him so he’ll fuck off and leave us alone.”

Poor guy Sebastian thinks as his boss stalks off to Skype Eurus he can’t be all bad if ____ likes him.

                                XxXxXxX

“YOU.”

“Believe me the feeling is mutual.”

“Guys, can we settle down please! We’re in a public place!!”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Here, sitting before him in the flesh in one of his bespoken suits, is the Ice Man at one of the nicer restaurants in London acting like he’s an honest to God good man beside Jim’s sister. 

Like the guy hadn’t tried to murder them last week for foiling their slave labor camps in India or tortured them on occasion.

And to make matters worse his hand is on _____’s thigh, oh my God Jim is going to murder him before the waiter even arrives.

________ has her hands up as is to stop her brother from launching himself over the table to fight and pronounces quickly, “I can explain!”

Well this would explain why Eurus couldn’t find information on him Sebby muses as the air becomes frigid. 

Crap, its one of Ice Man’s classic moves Sebastian thinks as other civilains begin to feel the icy sting.

“Explain what,” Jim spits out venomously, “that this monster brainwashed you into thinking that it loves you? That not even you can recognizes that he’s the Ice Man, the man responsible for the poverty and waste in our country? That he’s so evil that members of his own family are trying to end his tyranny?”

“Jimmy!”

“Now you see here, you two-bit genius,” Mycroft interjects, “I may make up causes and strife for my own gain but my love for ______ is one of the few things from me that are true.”

“Bullshit! You’re just using her to get to me!”

“Why would he want you when you already have Sebby,” _____ cries.

“I’m not gay!”

Sebastian can already see their waiter in the distance looking far too nervous to approach the shouting match that was their table so he shooed him off with a “come back later.”

Realizing that this would not only lead to a needless blood bath but to unmasking their identities to the public Sebastian tries his attempt to at least save this meal.

Tapping his glass to get their collective attention Sebastian starts,” Shut the hell up, you guys are causing a scene.”

Pointing at Mycroft accusing Jim begins to mouth out, “But he started-”

“I don’t care who started this I told you to shut up!”

He looks around the table at the lot of them.

______ looking confused and hurt that anyone would accuse Mycroft of anything less than sainthood, Mycroft torn between tearing ____ away with him like the villain he is or staying to suss out any evil intent toward her and Jim seemingly five seconds from ignoring the command to maul the Ice Man outright.

Praying to whatever deity that cursed him into a situation like this Sebastian began. “Look, we can’t outright believe that Ice Ma-I mean, Mycroft has the best intentions toward you _______-”Only to be interrupted by Jim’s HA!

Giving Jim a glare Sebastian continues, “However, JIM, we also can’t lawfully say that Mycroft’s feelings aren’t true because we aren’t mind readers.”

“I bet I can find us one on Craigslist!”

“Jimmy shut the hell up,” ______ hisses before gesturing for Sebastian to carry on. “So, my proposal is that we, Jim and I, monitor you two just to make sure that you’re safe.”

“But I’m 32,” ______ complains, “I’m too old for a chaperone!”

“Listen, I’m doing what I can _____. It’s either this or Jim’s going to try and murder Mycroft when you’re not around. It’s a compromise.”

“As if he could after all this time,” Mycroft snidely remarks.

“Maybe I just didn’t have the right motivation,” Jim counters getting squared up.

“Promises, promises,” Mycroft teases as he gestures for a waiter,” Besides we both know who the better genius is.”

“Yeah, your little sister.”

The air was becoming increasingly frigid to the point where Sebby was sure that he would have to evacuate people from the premises until _____ leaned onto Mycroft’s shoulder, melting away the frost.

“Guys, guys! Let’s stop the banter and eat! I’ve been dying to try this menu for ages,” _______ says cuddling Mycroft’s chill into submission.

“Anything you wish ______,” Mycroft says fondly in a way that makes Jim’s skin crawl.

Later after the bill was (fought over) and paid for  _____ hung back with him while Mycroft and Jimmy went to “talk” about some ground rules in private.

 “Sebby, why do Mycroft and Jimmy hate each other,” she asked innocently, “I know they never went to school together and Mycroft rarely leaves his office so how would they know each other enough to despise one another?”

Cursing his boss and this ridiculousness of their town Sebastian states, “We’re rival canning companies.”

“Oh, well that makes sense.” 

Listen, I’m not the best at superhero/villain names so cut me some slack. 

[samthewrestlingfan]

Bad At Love: Kenny Omega

Hi there, Lovebugs!

Here is a new lil Kenny fic! This is my first time writing Kenny, so please be gentle <3

Let me know if you like it! I enjoyed writing this one :)

Next this to come out will be the next chapter of BELIEVER. (No I haven’t forgotten about it!)

btw this is hella long and im sorry.

Characters: Kenny Omega/OC

Warnings: Alcohol, angst, MILD smut, fluff.

(gif credit: @toosweetme)

I took a swig of my beer, before I practically slammed it down on the table.

You’ve got this, Ella. If he shows up, just ignore him.

I felt a nudge on my side, snapping me out of my daze. “You doin’ okay?” Marty asked.

I nodded at him quickly, returning my attention to my alcohol. I heard an audible sigh come from him, “If you keep acting like this, you’re only going to draw attention to yourself, and how uncomfortable you are.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, Marty. I’m just…” I droned off, not bothering to continue my sentence. Marty excused himself leaving me with my drink and the Bucks on opposite ends of the table.

Truth be told I wasn’t anything; mostly because I wasn’t allowing myself to feel anything. My plan was to enjoy my night out with my friends, and not let Kenny Omega and his inability to think with anything but his dick ruin that for me.

“Els! Come grab a shot with me?” Matt offered.

I perked up at his behest, “Definitely.”

Matt ordered quite literally a whole tray of sake shots, and as we waited for them, I began to loosen up.

Matt cleared his throat suddenly, “Look, I know this probably isn’t my place, but you’re my friend, hell one of my best friends, and Kenny is too. I just don’t want to have the two of you lose a great friendship over this…”

I nodded as he spoke. He was right, I knew what I was getting when I fell for Kenny. I just never expected things to turn so sour so quickly.

Kenny and I had never see each other as more than friends. Ever. At least I didn’t, then one night it just clicked.

…and by clicked, I mean we fucked.

***

“Please let me help you…” Kenny chuckled.

I hiccuped, “Listen you, go back to the party, I’m f-fine!” I laughed, practically falling face first into the side of the elevator.

I was drunk as a skunk and everyone knew it.

“Ella, I swear to God you are the most stubborn person I’ve ever known.” Kenny said grabbing my arm to stabilize me.

I leaned into him and laid my head on his strong shoulder, “Yeah but you love me for it.” I inhaled his scent, he smelled like man and sex and ecstasy. Again, I’m pretty sure this is the alcohol talking.

He kissed my forehead, as the elevator reached my floor. “Let’s go drunky.”

***

I pushed open my hotel room door, Kenny following swiftly behind me.

“Alright Beautiful, Let’s get you in bed.” Kenny held my waist, guiding me into the dimly lit hotel room.

I groaned to myself, “Ughhh, I don’t wanna be alone.” I flopped myself on the edge of the bed, bending down, unstrapping my heels.

Kenny walked toward the bathroom, “You know you contradict yourself a lot? A second ago you told me to go back to the party.” I heard the bathroom door click closed and decided to hurry up and change for bed.

The room was spinning as I undressed, barely able to make out what I was ripping off from where. I was stood in the middle of the room,  and my black thong and matching bra, searching for my pajamas.

“Oh…right.” I mumbled to myself, remembering they were in the bathroom.

I stumbled through the room, and knocked on the door leaning against the frame, “Ken, I need my pjs.”

He swung open the door, “Fuck you’re–” I watched his eyes scan me up and down, “Whoa.”

I snuck by him, grabbing my clothes off the vanity. “What?” I asked.

Kenny cleared his throat, “Ella the tequila may have stolen my filter,  but you look,” He bit his bottom lip, “Incredible.”

My face burned at his compliment, and from my current state of intoxication. “Ken you’ve seen me in my gear, this isn’t that different is it?.” I spun around, giving him a nice view of my round behind, teasing him a bit.

He ran his hand over his face, “Oh-ho-ho, you have no idea…”

I climbed onto the bed, Kenny following quickly after me. I rested on the edge of the bed, my knees dug into the mattress to keep me from wobbling.

I reached out for Kenny and grabbed both sides of his lapel, pulling him into me slowly.

“Still want me to stay?” He asked almost hopeful, placing his hands on my hips.

I paused for a moment, allowing my eyes to connect with his. I saw a hunger in them, one that made a throbbing erupt from between my legs.

“I do.” I breathed.

Kenny brought his face close to mine. “Is this okay?” He asked.

I nodded. He brushed his lips against mine, and ran his rough fingertips up and down my sides. “Is that okay?”

I swallowed hard, “Yes.”

Without hesitation, Kenny kissed me. Hard. His hands searching for every curve my body had…

***

And the rest is history.

Except for the past few weeks, Kenny hadn’t spoken to me outside of work. He stopped calling, stopped texting…everything just stopped and he was gone. Kenny was never just gone, he always woke up with me, our limbs tangled together. He would kiss me good morning, then ask if I wanted to grab breakfast.

“Ella? Did you hear me?” Matt asked, eyebrows raised.

I looked to him quickly, “Hm? Oh yeah. Thanks, Matt.” I said. Truth be told, I stopped listening. I’m sure he was just telling me what everyone was telling me. At this point, I was sick of hear it.

I downed another shot, before excusing myself. “Matt, I’m just gonna run to the bathroom.”

His eyes widened. “But Ella didn’t you–”

“Matt,” I interrupted. “I’m fine.” I gently rubbed his shoulder before turning to walk–or stumble my way. The bar was dim, and smelled like an odd combo of memories and mistakes.

As I turned the corner I stumbled and slammed into the wall.

“Fuck…” I said as I hit the ground.

I heard a gruff laugh, “Nice mouth.” I looked up to see a strong hand held out for me.

God has a sick sense of humor. I thought to myself, realizing Matt must have been trying to warn me.

“You just gonna hang out on the floor all night?” Kenny said sarcastically.

I begrudgingly held my hand out, allowing him to help me up. I rose to my feet, crossing my arms in front of me.

“Thanks.” I spat.

Kenny smiled softly, brushing a stay piece of hair out of my face. “No problem, Els.”

I continued toward the bathroom, a billion thoughts running through my head. Does he hate me now? Was I not good enough for him? Has he moved on to someone else? Someone better than me?

“That’s it.” I grit my teeth together, and stomped back towards Kenny.

“Hey!” I shouted at him as he walked away. His head turned towards me, stopping mid step.

“You. Me. Outside…now.” I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and yanked him towards the door.

He walked with no hesitation. Outside onto the dirty street, and down the small side road next to the bar, he finally stopped to perch against the brick siding.

Kenny’s eyes bore holes into mine. There he was. Right in front of me, and I had every opportunity to say everything I was feeling.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

…and I choked.

“What?” He asked offended.

“What nothing!” I yelled. “You’ve completely ignored me for the past few weeks. You can barely be in my presence for more than two  minutes without finding a reason to leave!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs, and it felt damn good.

I took a deep breath, “You made me feel like shit, Ken. You made me feel used. Was that your plan? Get your dick wet, then ignore me for the rest of your life?”

Kenny took a step towards me. “Are you done?”

I scoffed, “Unbelievable! I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think Kenny Omega could ever give two fucks about me.”

“Don’t say that…you know I care about you.” He said, hurt painting his words.

“No you don’t. You cared about having someone you could fuck on a moments notice, well jokes on me huh.” I flipped him off, walking away swiftly but he pulled me back.

“Oh no, you don’t get to scream at me like a psycho then just walk away.” He held me still so I couldn’t leave. I snatched my arms back and crossed them in front of me.

“What could you possibly have to say to me to–” Kenny put a finger to my lips. “Ella, please, as much as I love your voice, just…shh.”

Kenny stepped back and brushed his hair back. “I haven’t been with anyone else.”

My eyes flashed to him. “What?” I asked.

“You. The last time we we’re together, you we’re the last person I was with.” He said confidently.

I rolled my eyes, “What does that matter Ken?”

“I don’t know. I’m just offended that you think so fucking little of me.”  He rested his hands on his hips. My head was so foggy from the booze that I couldn’t tell what emotion he put behind that sentence.

“You haven’t exactly given me a reason to think otherwise.” I said, slurring my words despite my best efforts.

“Really? So I guess the years of friendship before any of this happened were pointless?” It was Kenny’s turn to get loud now. I guess I kinda deserve it.

A chill ran up my spine, the cold air registering with my flush body causing me to shiver. Kenny noticed, and stopped his pacing to walk toward me.

He let out a small laugh, before removing his jacket and placing it over my shoulders. “See? I’m not this heartless monster you made me out to be.”

This is the Kenny I knew. Sweet, and kind and always taking care of everyone. “Thank you.” I smiled softly.

“Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want to hurt you?” He mumbled suddenly.

“What?” I questioned.

He cleared his throat. “Ella I’m not good at this stuff. I don’t know how to do the whole one girl thing.”

I scoffed, “Did I ever ask you for that?”

“No, but it’s what you deserve.” He spoke.

“Kenny, I knew what I was getting when we started whatever we were doing.” And that was true. I needed someone and so did he. We were more than comfortable with one another and it seemed to be enough, until my dumbass caught feelings.

“I was sick to my fucking stomach thinking about you with someone else. I couldn’t sleep without you next to me. I don’t know when I became such a fucking softy.” He laughed.

I placed a hand on his cheek. “Why did you just up and disappear then?” I said.

He sighed. “I needed to know if what I was feeling was something or if we had just gotten too comfortable with each other.”

I looked up to his eyes, “Well?” I asked.

He paused before he spoke, obviously trying to word what he wanted to say, “I fell for you, Els. I fell hard. I know I’ve been dick and I’m sorry. If you’d give me the time, I promise I’ll spend as long as you’d like making it up to you.”

My heart skipped a beat as he spoke. I didn’t know what to do beside stretch up and kiss him.

…and that’s exactly what I did.

I tangled my hands in his hair, our mouths getting familiar with one another again. Kenny pulled back and rested his forehead on mine. “I’ve missed that, Els.”

“Me too.” I said.

He stood up, offering me his hand. “C'mon. Let’s go celebrate with our nosey friends.” Kenny said gesturing to Nick and Matt’s faces in the window.

I took his hands and gripped it tight, “Can I buy my girl a drink?” He asked as he held the door.

My stomach churned at his offer. “Not a chance, Babe.”

[usuknetwork]

USUK Christmas Countdown 2017: December 15 #1

Title: Just a Dash of Magic Day 3: Magic Summary: Arthur would rather mope during Christmas, but Alfred has other plans. Rating: T Warning: Minimal cussing, offscreen minor character death   

(Written by: @soda-rebel and Art by: @jellyfist) 

There’s always a sort of mysterious feeling that settles with the snow. Not in the sense of chills that tingle deep in the bones, no. It’s more how the familiar somehow becomes unfamiliar, how memory-laden paths can easily lose their softness to overwhelming white. On such cold-caked paths of newness, there something stirs. It’s something ethereal, something otherworldly, something...magical. But in due time.

Of course, Arthur had always found snow to be something of a hindrance. Snow. Ice. Heck, even just the beginning of fall was tedious. The herbs he had easily stocked during the spring were always, always, killed by frost. No, there was nothing Arthur liked about the winter. Unfortunately, his cottage had been built from the draftiest parts of a hollowed oak tree. He didn’t like how the frigid fingers of cold would creep under the heavy door of his home. He didn’t like the silence that came with the receded animals; only death should ever be this quiet. He didn’t like that his...lover, would try to change his negative predisposition on the matter. Though it wasn’t the first (and definitely wouldn’t be the last) time Alfred F. Jones tried to ‘domesticize’ him. At least that’s what Arthur liked to call it. Though he supposed Alfred just couldn’t help it. There was a certain wildness to Arthur, a foreignness that intrigued almost as much as it frightened. But it wasn’t the wildness most were familiar with. It wasn’t like a hawk, with its terror dipped talons and see-all gaze. It wasn’t like a horse, with equally endless spirit and fury. What lay in Arthur was an eye grabbing newness. Newness that could break and burn and beat. Of course that made it all the more valuable to have. Time and time again, Alfred would come to him asking for more wildness and more danger. He’d ask Arthur to come with him, saying that Arthur could belong. While his love certainly did belong among the humans, Arthur was what many would call an abomination. In less extreme terms, he had always been an outcast. Maybe even a hermit. Besides, there was nothing he could do to hide what stirred beneath his surface, and he felt no need to change a past that he cared little about.

Ever since his birth, the villagers knew something was off. Little Arthur Kirkland, with eyes green like a snake, but sharp like a raven. Little Arthur Kirkland, face rounded like a doll’s, but skin pallid like a corpse. Little Arthur Kirkland, with the body of a human, but the blood of a witch. Of course, precautious people have a certain knack for labeling and preparing for these sort of things. Before he could even talk, the villagers had stockpiled weapons against him, a toddler no less! They told their children, their children’s children, and any town willing to listen. And then they waited for dear, sweet little Arthur to make a mistake.

Arthur, naive as he was, thought that a war was coming to his home. He knew from what he recalled of his mother-- before she was sent off to sea by the village --that there was something otherworldly about him. Luckily enough, she had left him journals and notes on how to control whatever power he had. Ignoring his father’s warnings, wanting to prove that he could be of use despite his strangeness, Arthur dabbled in spells. He liked how healing spells felt like a swim in warm honey, but hated the way the air seemed to stick to everything afterwards. Hexing was fun, but the after effect always smelled of burning skunk cabbage (a ghastly smell). White magic felt like layers of mint on his skin, an unwelcome burn. And then he tried black magic. Now that was something else. It sizzled and whispered to the stale air. Whenever Arthur called, it would leap from him like a stallion, tearing into the skin of silence, making it bleed the aura and power magic usually held. Power, power, power.

Of course, there were days when black magic would turn on him like the wild beast it was. Sometimes Arthur’s fingers would burn from taming it. He could even remember when his little pink nail-beds darkened from soot and magical essence. At one point, Arthur strained himself so much that his veins were blackened from yanking out the magic time and time again. But he liked it. So he never stopped.

It was foolish of him to think they’d understand his intentions. Arthur had only wanted to show that he could defend the village now, that they never needed to fear anything ever again. All it took was a small explosion of dark flames from his magic to alarm the humans. And that was how he discovered it was never a forest they were preparing to fight. It had always been him. When those he had thought were friends, family almost, surrounded him with pitchforks and fire, Arthur panicked and whispered for the only thing he could trust. He would soon regret not thinking of a precise spell that day; all Arthur had wanted at the time was to fly far away. The magic answered and whisked him away in a flurry of feathers to the empty center of a forest.

Arthur remembered how cold it had been there in the morning snow. He remembered how he sat there for hours, unable to believe what had happened. He remembered how he couldn’t stop shaking in his thin nightshirt (he hadn’t had the time to change). It was not until Arthur glanced at some ice that he noticed something different about himself. Multiple wheat-colored feathers were firmly imbedded into his neck, contrasting the rapidly darkening soft blue of his frostbitten skin. Arthur stilled when he didn’t find any wings attached to his back, but only a little. He tried for hours to rip them out: the frill around his neck, the few feathers around the back of his head, and the small feathers that clung to his shoulders. But when one was gone another just took its place. He felt so helpless, so alone. When Arthur calmed down enough after his panic, he cried, knowing the truth about his mother’s ‘holiday’ to the sea and knowing what would happen to his father. He never cried again.

What had he been thinking about before his nostalgia trip? Yes, yes the snow. The snow was cruel. Arthur hated the snow. Half his clothes were light shirts and the rest were cloaks! Not to mention his hands. Cold weather always made his hands act up. They were tender from years of abuse from his magic, but at least it was manageable in spring. He actually needed gloves in winter. Gloves! The disgrace! That reminded him, he should put on gloves.

Arthur scolded himself out loud for a few minutes on how he wasted so much time on useless memories. He pushed himself out of his bed--though it was more a nest of quilts on a hammock-- to the cold wood floor. Pausing first to fluff the spot where feathers and hair melted together, he set off to look for gloves to stop the aching in his fingers. He checked by the round window, the only window, swearing that he had set it there before. It wasn’t there.

Maybe by the? No. If only his cottage wasn’t so cluttered. It was small, having only a cooking/brewing area, a table to eat at, and a bed that was somewhat tucked into the wall, but he had so much stuff! There were the hanging and hidden jars holding his wilting herbs; Arthur always tripped over those. Miscellaneous pots and cauldrons filled the dining area, a few upturned ones even served as his stools. The kitchen? To put it lightly, it still needed some love after his botched attempt at cooking with magic. But most of all, sparkly, dangly, glittering knick knacks were strewn everywhere. Some hung from the ceiling because they caught the sun just right and worked as a natural morning alarm. A few seemingly endless bracelets tumbled from the small table (with the cauldron chairs) onto the floor. Arthur just honestly liked shiny things, developing a bad habit of finding and pocketing them. He never wore any of it really, he just liked how they looked. Perhaps that too was from the spell. Speaking of pretty things…

“Alfred, I’m not ready to head out yet,” Arthur called. Not that Alfred would wait outside anyway. He bustled inside, stomping off the white from his shoes and leaving them with his heavy winter coat by the door. Then he bolted to the kitchen.

“Artie it’s so cold! Did you go out yet? No, wait, don’t do that. It’s really really cold,” Alfred stammered as he practically collapsed by the fire-lit stove, thankful for its warmth.

Arthur smiled at the exaggerated antics. Feigning a hurt voice he said, “How rude, I haven’t seen you in weeks love, and the first thing you embrace is my stove.” Silence. Draping an arm across his eyes, Arthur moaned, “What a life, for my first and only lover to choose kitchenware over me! What a cruel fate! Woe is me! The end is neigh!” He would have continued if Alfred hadn’t run over to press half frozen kisses onto his face.

“You know” --kiss-- “I love” --kiss-- “you” --kiss-- “but” --kiss, kiss-- “I’m freezing!” Arthur indulged him, pretending to still be deeply wounded by his preference of cast iron as opposed to warm flesh. He wasn’t able to enjoy the moment for long. As quickly as he ran over, Alfred skittered back to, and almost fell face first on top of, the radiating stove. Apparently hints were lost on the clueless. Arthur sighed, already feeling the kisses evaporate from his skin. He made a show of walking and diving under the covers of his bed, feeling his feathers puff up from irritation. Under the blankets, a cold sensation startled him, making the feathers near his neck ruffle excitedly. Arthur was more than disappointed to find the cause to be his missing gloves and not an oven-detached Alfred. Honestly, fuck the snow.

Alfred must have noticed his boyfriend’s pouting, eventually padding over to and snuggling with Arthur in the hammock. Starved for attention, Arthur melted into the embrace, happy for the added heat. Alfred pressed his face into some of Arthur’s soft shoulder fluff and inhaled deeply. It smelled of pine, cinnamon, and a dash of magic. Alfred buried his face deeper until he almost sneezed. Luckily he’d been through enough snuggle sessions to know when to stop. To Arthur’s embarrassment, the feathers that coated his neck puffed up in response. He forced them to lay flat, pushing them down with his hand, but after a few seconds of Alfred’s nuzzling, they just flew back up. Arthur sighed and let the troublesome feathers be.

For a while the only sound was the soft crinkling of burning wood from the stove and twinkling from a few disturbed trinkets. Arthur had to admit, he enjoyed moments like this. Him and Alfred just sitting together, pretending like a world didn’t exist outside their arms. Well, not a world Arthur wanted to take part in anyway. Sadly it didn’t last. Alfred was starting to get fidgety. He would be playing with the blankets for one moment then switch to gently petting Arthur’s feathers the next.   

“Alfred,” Arthur began, “You seem anxious. Is there something you wanted to do?” Alfred practically glowed with excitement.

“Actually, yeah Art. I was wondering if you, ya know, wanted to do anything festive? Maybe build a snowman or somethin’?”

“You mean you want to go outside?” Arthur asked. He stared at Alfred, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Alfred faltered under Arthur’s stare. “Uh yeah…” he mumbled.

“I thought you said it was too cold.”

An urgency seemed to spark from Alfred. “But who doesn’t go outside when it’s Christmas! I know you don’t really celebrate it, but you’ve been cooped”--Arthur’s feathers ruffled irritably-- “er, holed up in here like all forever! Don’t you wanna go outside a little?”

Arthur huffed. “No, no I would rather not.” Crossing his arms, Arthur hoped he made it clear that he wouldn’t be moving an inch for the rest of the evening. In his pouting fit, Arthur felt a lack of warmth, a lack of Alfred. From of the corner of his eye he could see just how dejected Alfred looked. His lip was even quivering the way children did when they were upset. Arthur was a sucker for those. Alfred did walk all the way there just to see him. “Fine,” Arthur relented, the guilt getting to him. “But only one snowman.”

Alfred immediately beamed at him and scrambled to get out of bed, almost throwing them both to the floor. He apologised with a quick kiss to Arthur’s cheek and rushed to throw on his coat and boots. Arthur opted for a green cloak that had been laying in a pile on the floor. He really needed to tidy up.

“Are you sure you’ll be warm enough in that Artie?” Alfred asked, worried that his boyfriend would turn into an icicle.

Arthur looked down at his clothes: the usual thin shirt, loose pants, plain boots, and the cloak he picked out. “Besides my gloves,” --he paused to grab them from the blankets-- “I think I’ll be just fine Alfred.”

Alfred shrugged. “If you say so.”

Arthur hesitated for a moment when it came time to nudge open the door. He was about to be assaulted by icy winds he had avoided so well. He heard Alfred ask a question, probably about his choice in clothing, and assured him he was fine. Slowly, slow enough for the hinges to squeal, Arthur let in the cold. He could feel as warmth drained from his skin and fell under the floorboards. His feathers pressed down and against his neck, trying to save what little warmth hadn’t dripped away. The wind felt like an icy whip that danced and lacerated anything that lived. It didn’t seem to bother Alfred though.

Alfred seemed to have bloomed at the sight of snow, the first burst of cold giving his eyes a glorious shine. As Alfred sprinted past him to a clearing a few feet away, Arthur stood and watched from the doorway. He couldn’t help but think that Alfred was made for this weather. Those blue, blue eyes were beautifully preserved slices of winter, intense like the frozen waters but as soft as freshly fallen snow. Yet they always held the warmth of a soft spring day. In a way, it was magical.    

“Artie!” Alfred hollered before flopping backwards on the snow. “Come make a snow angel with me!”

Arthur suppressed a chuckle--well, more like covered his mouth with his hand--as he watched Alfred flap his arms and legs. “You’re going to get colder like that Alfred,” he scolded, but not without a smile.

“But it’s fuuun,” Alfred laughed. “C’mon, don’t be so stuffy.”

“Stuffy?” he asked in an amused voice. Arthur’s eyes glinted with mischief. He ran out from his spot, not caring about the cold for once shouting, “I’ll show you stuffy!” With just a little bit of magic and an abrupt hand gesture, all the snow from the branches above Alfred fell on his face. The action surprised him, but the competitive glimmer on his face told Arthur he hadn’t been hurt. With a face that was flushed from cold and joy, Alfred took a scoop of snow from the ground.

“It’s on bird boy!” he shouted, hurling a snowball at Arthur. It hit him directly in the face. Alfred whooped in victory, which was short lived. All it took was a wave of Arthur’s hand for several dozen perfect snowballs to float in the air around them.  

With a slight smirk he said, “You have two options. You can either surrender or face my magic.” He let the dangling snowballs slowly inch forward. It would have been more threatening if they weren’t, well, snowballs. “What’ll it be love?” Arthur asked in a honey dappled voice. Alfred seemed to be assessing his options: get pelted or give up the snowball fight of a lifetime. Just as it looked like he was about to submit, Alfred grabbed the closest hanging snowball and threw it at Arthur. Hitting him square in the chest, it caught him off guard and gave Alfred the perfect chance to run away. “I choose freedom!” he yelled between bits of laughter. The look of astonishment on Arthur’s face was just too hilarious to not laugh at.

Arthur pursued, letting the snowballs crumble back onto the ground. His cloak created a bit of drag, but not enough to interfere. He caught up to Alfred with ease (probably because of his lighter clothing) and tackled him to the ground. Arthur laid his face on Alfred’s chest, hearing his heart flutter with each breath. “Do you surrender now?” he asked between pants. Geez, he really needed to get out more.

Alfred rolled his eyes. “You win this round Art. But you won’t be so lucky next time.”

“Oh?” he chuckled, looking up a tad from his spot on Alfred.

“I’ve been told I’m a master strategist.”

“By who, your mother?”

Alfred pouted and shoved some snow down Arthur’s shirt. Arthur made an ungodly screech and squirmed off Alfred to get the ice out.  

“Foul play!” Arthur yelled, hopping up and down from the sudden cold. He realised his mistake too late. Alfred exploded into fits of laughter, half from the sound Arthur made and half from Arthur’s wording.

“Get it? ‘Cause you have…” Alfred tried to quiet the remaining giggles. Arthur glared, almost daring him to finish the sentence. “Nevermind,” Alfred said with an annoyingly sweet grin. “Anyways, we have snowmen to build.” Gathering himself and patting off the dustings of white, Alfred starting packing snow.

“Here, let me,” Arthur offered. Before Alfred could object, an invisible force swirled the snow until two perfect snowmen stood side by side. Arthur allowed himself a small smile as he stepped back to admire his work. Alfred seemed a little upset for not taking part in creating the snowmen, but he looked more relieved to not have to deal with the tedious procedure. Making himself useful, Alfred gathered some sticks and a few stones to decorate the snowmen with. He shuffled back to Arthur to appreciate the bare snowmen while carrying a small mound of materials. Inspiration seemed to strike as Alfred quickly broke a few twigs and arranged them on a snowman’s face.

“Look Arthur! He has your eyebrows!” It did indeed, the three rows of twigs mimicking the brows on Arthur’s face.

“Very funny Alfred,” Arthur replied. He had to admit though, it was pretty ingenious. Not that he’d ever tell Alfred that.

Together they added a few more details, such as stones for eyes, mouths, and noses. When it came time to add the finishing touch, Alfred insisted that they arranged the stick arms to look like the snowmen were holding hands.

“They’d be sad!” was Alfred’s justification.

“You’re sad,” was Arthur’s retort as he helped Alfred.  

“I’m never sad when I’m around you Artie.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Let’s get back inside, the cold is making you sappier than you already are.” As Arthur turned to head back, he felt a slight tug from his cloak. Alfred was gripping one of the edges gently, his face looking urgent.

“You know I love you right?” Alfred asked. Arthur felt warmth trickling back up to his face while a few of his feathers fluffed up. He swore that no matter how many times he heard those words, they always made him feel so, so warm. Arthur felt the magic in him sizzle and spark just under the surface, reminding him what separated him from the humans. It was peculiar that Alfred never felt threatened. In fact, their entire relationship seemed to casually gloss over how Arthur was a potential danger. But no matter how many times Arthur used his magic, no matter how strange he was, Alfred only seemed to love him all the more.        

“Y-yes. Of course I know that. I love you too Alfred.”  

Hand in hand, they walked back to Arthur’s cottage to snuggle in the hammock again. As Alfred cooed over how pretty Arthur’s feathers looked against the snow and whispered to him promises of the future, he couldn’t help but like the cold for the first time in a long while. Perhaps he had found a place to belong after all.  

[geordiesaffer-blog]

How is everyone doing? Still hanging in there? I sure hope so... I've been keeping busy with my stitching, reading, beginning a new (non-cross stitch)  project (which I'll let you in on some day soon!), trying to limit my news intake, and connecting with family members via Zoom and Board Game Arena . Since this whole strange Covid-19 saga began for us in mid-March, the only person I've talked to face to face is my husband! Such a strange feeling...  My family met up for a virtual game night on Easter Sunday (on Board Game Arena) and it was wonderful to see everyone's smiling faces. My oldest son and daughter-in-law in California, middle son and girlfriend who live 30 minutes away, and my youngest son in the Washington, DC area all connected online for games of Yahtzee and Sushi Go. I basically just watched and coached my husband a bit in Yahtzee as only five players could play at a time.My stitching has been hit and miss--still having trouble settling, but I do try to sit down each day for a couple hours in the evening. I know you've seen these designs stitched up many times, but I hope you don't mind seeing my versions... First, is the Easter Holiday Hoopla design by With Thy Needle and Thread. I fell in love with this cute bunny the first time I saw him and am so pleased with how he turned out. I loved the colors on the chart and chose some similar overdyed threads from my stash to stitch him. He is stitched "over one" on 28 ct. ice blue Jobelan so the stitched area is a mere 2" X 2". I finished him into a circle (just traced a drinking glass to get the shape on the mounting board), padded the board with batting, and added a silk handmade cording trim. A mini-pompom gave his tail a nice fluffy look.  Easter Holiday Hoopla finishThe round piece is simply glued onto a fabric-covered piece of sticky board and placed in a rustic looking 3.5 inch square brown frame. I purchased a bunch of these frames from an eBay seller, years ago, who had used them to display his butterfly collection (no, the butterflies were not included--thank goodness!). They sure have come in handy over the years and can easily be painted. Here is another of the frames that I painted and distressed last year for a different Easter finish that resides with my oldest son and daughter-in-law in California.An Easter finish from 2019--such a cute bunny!My second finish is so bright and cheery! It is called "Easter Wreath" and is a design from Tiny Modernist. The bunnies also have white mini-pompom tails like I used in the Holiday Hoopla finish above. They, too, are stitched "over one" on 28 ct. white lugana. I used the suggested DMC colors for everything except the carrots. I wanted a darker looking carrot so I used DMC 976. And, because of a slight counting error--my carrots are just a bit longer than those charted. Oops! It doesn't affect the overall look so I just left them larger. Ripping out "over one" stitching is the worst, so I avoid it whenever possible! I kept the finish very simple as the design itself is very "busy." Just a handmade cording in that pretty shade of blue that I love so much!"Easter Wreath" finishHere are both of my new Easter finishes together--looks like we had a big party going on on Easter Sunday, doesn't it? Nope--just me and my husband. It was a quiet day, but certainly one we'll always remember due to the circumstances. I didn't even get most of my Easter decorations out this year--it felt like too much of a chore for some reason. I've been gradually learning that now is the time to cut yourself some slack--be kind to others, but also to yourself. These are unnavigated waters and no one really knows what the next day will bring...I absolutely love the pretty teal blues in these two finishes!I also got a very sweet Easter card from my friend, Gabi, in Germany. She knows how much I love stitched bunnies (or any bunny, really!) so she made me this lovely card. Thank you so much, Gabi--I always love hearing from you and being the recipient of your pretty stitching!Easter card stitched by my friend, Gabi, in Germany!Much of my Easter seemed to be spent on the phone reminiscing with my mom, exchanging old photos via text with my siblings, and looking through old photos. The photos below brought back such wonderful memories of times with my three boys--dyeing eggs, hunting for baskets, and making a bunny cake each year. Oh, I miss those days so much. These were all taken in the late 80s / early 90s as you can probably tell by all the red and blue.  I think, back then, clothing designers only made boys' clothes in combinations of red and blue! It's so nice how things have evolved. And yes--they all have the same haircuts--courtesy of my husband. He sure saved us a ton of money through the years by cutting the boys' hair until they became teens. He even cut my hair when it was longer--not sure if I trust him to cut it at this shorter length, though! What are you doing about your hair? Trying to cut it yourself, getting a loved one to cut it, or just letting it grow? And we won't even talk about the hair coloring issue--yikes! By the time this is over, I'm going to have a very wide "skunk" stripe where my hair is parted, that's for sure! Time to let it go gray? I also made a couple of masks for myself and my husband. Oh, dear! I am really  not good with a sewing machine... The first one took me two hours to create, and, although the second one was easier--I do struggle!  I used one of my husband's old shirts for the green checked one (mine) and a piece of quilting cotton for my husband's. They are "okay"--mine is a bit too loose around the sides. I found another tutorial that might work better for small heads on YouTube so I might give that one a try this weekend. Wish me luck!My two masks--pretty good, but I need more practice!Comfort foods still seem to be appearing on the menu at my house and I found this delicious recipe for apple crisp right here. When I make it again, I'm going to try about 3/4 as much sugar and maybe even take it down to half as much. It was plenty sweet!  We enjoyed this as our Easter dessert (and for the next two nights, too!). Have you been whipping up any tasty comfort foods during this lockdown period?Do the apples make this a health food--ha ha!! Watching old television shows seems to be comforting to me right now, too. My husband and I have started watching an episode of Cheers (on Netflix) each night before we go to bed--a light, fun show that doesn't upset us or keep us awake. Honestly, I think we've both been sleeping better lately... And I've begun watching Downton Abbey again from the very beginning. You see, I never watched the final season, so I decided to begin all over again. I absolutely love it-- and I really think I'm picking up on so much more of the dialogue than I did before. The Dowager Countess's (Maggie Smith's) lines are just so delightful, aren't they? "Edith, you are a Lady, not Toad of Toad Hall!" ~ "What is a weekend?" ~ "Every woman goes down the aisle with half the story hidden." I could go on an on! And the scenery, the dresses, the jewels--sigh... All so well done. I still haven't seen the movie, but plan on watching it after I finish the series.  Anyone else have any comfort watching television shows to recommend? So, how many of you have talked to friends or family using Zoom? I had a Zoom get-together with my three sisters-in-law (on my husband's side) on  Tuesday and, after some initial difficulties connecting on my end, I thoroughly enjoyed seeing their faces and catching up with them. They live in Indiana, Ohio, and Connecticut so we rarely see each other anyway. We already have plans to meet this way every other week. At the end of our session, the following question was posed to us so I've decided to use that as my "Getting To Know You" inquiry this week:  "Have you found a "silver lining" in this period of being confined to your home?" In other words, few love being stuck at home, but is there something nice in it that you've discovered? For me, that answer is easy! Yes! I've discovered that my husband and I can live together happily and quite easily (other than the occasional disagreement) after he retires. I was truly worried about that, as I was so used to being home alone,   but--so far, so good! How about you?Giveaway Time... I haven't had a giveaway in a while... so how about the chart for this lovely red house sampler? It is simply two pages removed from a magazine (sorry,  I don't know which one) and if more than one person wants it, I will draw a name. All you have to do is: 1) mention in your comment that you specifically want to be entered in the giveaway,  2) answer the "Getting To Know You" question above, and 3) include your email address if I don't already have it. You may enter until April 29th, 2020 and then I'll pick a winner and announce it on my next post. The chart will be folded and mailed in a legal sized envelope to save money on postage. Good luck to all! If you are interested in winning this pretty red house sampler chart, see above!I'll leave you with what, to me, has always been a sign of hope and comfort each time it blooms. This orchid was given to me when my father died on October 31, 2014 and it still blooms almost yearly. Each time it blesses me with these beautiful white and fuchsia blossoms, I think of him and feel like he's visiting me. And this year, that feeling is especially needed and meaningful. It's an absolute perfect time for it to be blooming with all the worries and unrest swirling around us these days, isn't it?This special orchid always brings me comfort...So, more of the same for a while--at least here in Pennsylvania. We are shut down until at least April 30, probably longer. The hardest part for me in this whole thing is being unable to visit my mom--I miss her so much. It is extremely lonely for her having no family https://www.patternspatch.com/1/bunny-stitching-as-the-days-slowly-pass/ https://stitchingdream.blogspot.com/2020/04/bunny-stitching-as-days-slowly-pass.html

[cuthian]

Starting Over Chapter Four

Hi guys!

Please enjoy the next chapter and be sure to keep an eye on the dates--there's some time jumps coming up :)

Love, Annaelle

Chapter Four

POLYAMOROUS RIGHTS ADVOCATES SEE MARRIAGE EQUALITY COMING FOR THEM

Like many others across the country a few weeks ago, a Washington D.C. couple and their housewarming guests buzzed about the Supreme Court’s ruling that legalized gay marriage in all fifty states. This group, however, was far more interested in Chief Justice John Robert’s dissent than the majority opinion that made same-sex marriage the law of the land.

The couple—a husband and a wife—are polyamorous, and just moved in with their girlfriend. […]chief justice wrote that polygamy has deeper roots in history and that the decision to allow gays to marry “would apply with equal force to the claim of a fundamental right to plural marriage.”

Other comments of note from Chief Justice John Roberts on plural marriage include: “If not having the opportunity to marry ‘serves to disrespect and subordinate’ gay and lesbian couples, why wouldn’t the same ‘imposition of this disability’ serve to disrespect and subordinate people who find fulfillment in polyamorous relationships?” and “When asked about a plural marital union[…] petitioners asserted that a State ‘doesn’t have such an institution.’ […]that is exactly the point: the States at issue here do not have an institution of same-sex marriage, either.”

[…]believe that Roberts’ dissent will prove as useful to the polyamorous movement as dissents written by Justice Antonin Scalia in gay rights cases were to the most recent—and successful—same-sex marriage suit.

Polyamorists and similar communities have never found more vindication in a dissent than this, however. It truly is causing quite the stir, amongst supporters and protesters alike.

[…]movement for equal right to plural marriage gained a lot of traction in the last few years, after Tony Stark’s announcement of his polyamorous relationship with longtime boyfriend Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes and Stark Industries C.E.O. Virginia “Pepper” Potts. Stark, Potts, and Rhodes have already issued multiple statements saying they’d love to marry each other, but that they refuse to marry between themselves unless they can all marry.

“Tony and I have been together for most of our adult lives,” Rhodes said when asked during a press conference. “We’ve been with Pepper for a long time too, by now. We know this is it for us. If we could, we would already have been married.” […]many people living in polyamorous relationships “are in the closet and being very careful”, with a large number of them feeling it’s more important to protect their employment, housing, and children than to lead the charge for marital rights.

[…]polyamorous partners, particular younger ones, are increasingly “out” about their lifestyle, and believe that change will come with greater swiftness than for gay people. Having public figures like Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, James Rhodes and even Captain America himself lending support to their cause is predicted to have a large impact.

[…]explosion of media interest in polyamorous families hints change will come—so long as polyamorous people continue to step out of the shadows—and she hopes in the meantime states will expand domestic partnership laws.

"The same-sex marriage movement has really broadened our perspectives on what family means, what love means," a spokesperson for the National LGBTQIA+ community says. "There's quite a strong possibility in the next 10 or 20 years we'll have a very different idea nationwide of what it means to be in a committed family."

—Steven Nelson, “Future Polyamorous Marriage Right”, U.S. News & World Report Online, June 2015

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Common floor of the Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.

November 23rd, 2015

Tony

Whatever else occurred, Tony maintained that organizing an Avengers Game Night the day after Becca, Capsicle and Thor returned to the Tower was a brilliant idea. They hadn’t done anything together as a team since the party they’d thrown Steve had Becca when they abandoned them for a new, shiny job in D.C., and now that they were back and they had a few new members, Tony wanted to make sure they had some time together.

They tended to hang out in clusters, and it wasn’t like they didn’t all get along or weren’t all friends, it was just that they tended to stick to their pre-Battle of New York friendship dynamics.

It was, quite possibly, the first time they’d all managed to be in the Tower at the same time in years.

He’d convinced Rhodey to stick around for the weekend, citing a few promises that made Tony feel a little hot under the collar just thinking about them, and had J.A.R.V.I.S. sneakily reschedule all of Pepper’s appointments so her weekend was free, and even lured Bruce up from his lab with some kind of weird Himalayan tea the man had mentioned once.

Natasha had texted him three days ago that she and Clint would both be there—even though Tony hadn’t even really decided to do anything yet back then—so he’d resigned himself to having his Tower invaded by formerly brainwashed—semi-Russian, at least one of them—spies.

Steve and Becca had planned on spending their three days off in the Tower anyway, so Tony had relished in not having to convince them to show up.

The wonder twins had not confirmed they’d be leaving their floor, but Tony figured they’d show up at some point. Even Thor would be there, coming in from D.C. with Becca and Steve, and he had happily provided all the Asgardian booze needed to get both Steve and himself delightfully drunk as a damned skunk, and promised he would ensure Becca and Steve wouldn’t skip out tonight’s activities.

Tony had PlansTM for the night.

It wasn’t that they didn’t all know each other reasonably well, but Tony felt like there were probably a few things that they could stand to learn about each other.

Besides… They all needed a break from the Avengers op from hell.

Tony hadn’t really been able to find any solid evidence of a cover-up, no matter how many databases he hacked and how many firewalls he bypassed, and he knew Natasha hadn’t found anything more damning either.

It was intensely frustrating.

So. Game night.

It was, even if he did say so himself, a perfect plan.

Steve, Becca and Thor wandered onto the common floor first. Tony hadn’t actually seen all of them together that often, and it was pretty interesting to see the dynamic. Thor and Becca were holding hands, while Becca used her free hand to gesticulate excitedly about whatever she and the Capsicle were talking about. Thor wasn’t speaking much that Tony could see, but he looked utterly content to listen to Becca and Steve babble without providing much input.

Tony shrugged.

To each their own.

At least he’d brought a bottle of what Tony assumed was the booze that would get him and Steve drunk too. He narrowly resisted the urge to pout—he had hoped Thor would’ve foreseen to bring more than a single bottle for the two of them.

Pepper walked in a few minutes later, engrossed in whatever legal documents she was undoubtedly reading, Rhodey pulling her along by one hand to make sure she didn’t run into anything.

Tony may have swooned a little.

Just a little.

Rhodey being a gentleman had always been a bit of a turn-on, and basically everything Pepper did made Tony’s heart feel like it grew three sizes—in the non-lethal, metaphorical way, of course.

He watched as Pepper greeted Becca, Thor and Steve with a hug, a little puzzled by the strange, long look Thor gave her when he released her from his arms, before he turned to Rhodey and shook his hand. He didn’t get a chance to really think on it more, because right then the twins decided to appear on his couch in a single blurred movement.

He hadn’t spent much time with Wanda and Pietro yet—he didn’t think any of them had, except maybe Natasha—but he looked forward to getting to know them.

He’d been the one voting for their addition to the team the most, despite them being underage at the time, and he hadn’t regretted the decision yet. Once they had gotten over their resentment for his bombs being used in the attack that killed their parents and little brother, they turned out to be wicked smart and incredibly resourceful.

He liked them, even if Speedy Gonzales was snarkier than Rogers and Becca combined, and Little Red had a meaner side-eye than the goddamned Black fucking Widow did.

The superspies suddenly appeared on his couch, a bottle of excellent vodka already clenched in Red Scare’s hand. Tony just threw his hands up and figured he didn’t even want to know how they got past J.A.R.V.I.S.—

…he really did want to know though.

For Science.

Once Bruce had trudged in, looking for all intents and purposes like he was completely surprised to find himself suddenly surrounded by his teammates, Tony herded all of them towards the lounge area, where there were enough seats for all of them, and where they could put down all of the booze and snacks they’d collected.

Of course, ample seating still meant Clint and Natasha somehow twisted themselves together into a human pretzel, and Becca cuddled close to her Asgardian beefcake while Rogers seemed to come to the conclusion that Becca’s lap was the perfect place to rest his head while he squinted at all of them suspiciously—Tony had to admit Rogers might be onto him just a little bit.

The twins commandeered one of the love seats for themselves, and the Flash kid grinned smugly at Bruce when he had to settle for a seat next to them.

Rhodey and Pepper perched next to each other on the sofa and Tony flung himself at their feet, very subtly tilting his head back into their knees until one of them dug their fingers into his hair and gave him the hair scratches he’d been angling for.

Excellent.

“Okay,” he said when everyone had settled with their respective favorite alcohol—and juice, for the not-yet-of-legal-drinking-age Maximoff twins (yes he was a hypocrite)—within reach. “We’re going to play stupid drinking games like we’re still in college and spill some juicy gossip and we’re going to generally not be responsible tonight. Pep, darling, light of my life, put away the phone, I know you’re working.”

He felt rather than heard Pepper sigh before she handed her phone to Rhodey and accepted the glass of her favorite Merlot from him. “Thank you, sweetheart,” Tony heard her say quietly, and damn if that didn’t make his heart squeeze a little too.

He loved his partners, damn it. He was allowed to be sappy.

“Oh,” Clint exclaimed happily from somewhere in the human pretzel. “Let’s start with Truth or Dare! It’ll make everyone loosen up a little!”

“No it won’t,” Steve grumbled from his spot in Becca’s lap, but he quickly shut up when she patted his cheek consolingly and just pushed his lip out into a pout—God, it was easy to forget the guy was one of their younger members until he did shit like that.

“I’ll start,” Clint chirped. “Rogers, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Steve replied mulishly, sitting up straight and curling his legs beneath him.

“What did you really think of the uniform Phil designed?” Clint grinned, winking at Steve lightly. Tony was actually inordinately pleased to see that Clint was able to say his late husband’s name without dissolving into hysterical sobbing.

Rogers hadn’t been the only hot mess in the Tower for a while there.

“Ugh,” Steve said eloquently, taking a sip of the Asgardian booze Thor handed him. “I hated it. Tight in all the wrong areas and flimsy as fuck. The tights the USO gave me were better. Those were stretchy. I could actually move properly in those. Plus they made my ass look great. There was an excessively appreciative audience.”

Tony hadn’t expected that, and burst into surprised laughter along with the others, hiccupping a little when they calmed down a little. Steve had the most shit-eating grin on his face and Tony feared for himself a little when Steve said, “Stark. Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” he said, pushing out his chin a little in defiance, keeping his eyes on Steve’s as the other man came up with an undoubtedly devious dare.

Steve grinned, baring all his teeth, like Tony had just played right into his cards—which he probably had, damn it—and chuckled. “I dare you to let Clint style your hair and your beard and to wear it like that for the rest of the night.”

Tony yelped indignantly while the others laughed and jeered at them, but refused to back down. “Fine,” he hissed, snatching one of the full shot glasses from the table and downing it. “But I need to be drunker for this.” He pointed one finger at Barton, who had excitedly extracted himself from his human pretzel and said, “But you’re not touching the beard. And I swear to God, Barton, if I have to shave my hair in the morning to save it, I will break your bow and all of your arrows.”

Everyone laughed at his expense—even Rhodey and Pepper, the traitors—and Clint hopped off to the bathroom to gather whatever nefarious supplies he needed to deface Tony’s beautiful hair.

“I get to go right now though,” he demanded, glaring at Steve as Barton returned with an armful of brushes, pots of gel and hairspray—was that temporary coloring spray?—and immediately dumped all of it on Pepper’s lap. He barely had the chance to look at Steve’s nod in acquiescence before Barton dug his fingers into his hair and began combing through it.

“Becca,” Tony called, grinning wickedly at Becca, because he couldn’t actually get back at Steve directly, but he could do it like this. “Truth or dare?”

Becca groaned and sipped her whiskey before she replied, “I’m going to regret this, but dare.”

“Aha!” Tony exclaimed triumphantly, valiantly trying to ignore whatever atrocities Barton was committing on his hair. “I dare you to make out with Steve!”

“No!” Becca shouted, nose wrinkling in disgust while Steve made a face. “God, gross, no. I take it back, truth, give me truth instead!”

Tony wagged his finger at her with the smuggest grin he could muster, given that most of his higher brain function was preoccupied with Barton’s deeply questionable fashion choices.

“Them’s the rules, Baby-Becs. No take-backs. Someone make out with him!”

“Oh, come on,” Becca whined, tossing an olive in Tony’s direction. “I’ll answer two questions and take the shot, promise. Just let me switch it out. I don’t wanna kiss Steve, he’s gross.”

“Ah, Krúttið mitt,” Thor boomed with a large grin. “You do not do our friend justice. His kissing is most satisfactory.” Tony burst into surprised laughter with the others, mostly because Steve’s face was tomato-red, and he seemed to be torn between pride and utter embarrassment, while Becca was looking between her boyfriend and the Capsicle with an expression that told him she wasn’t quite sure whether to be amused or angry at the reminder that her boyfriend had made out with her best friend.

“Really?” She pouted at Thor, frowning. “Maybe you should be kissing him then.”

Thor smirked and slung an arm around her shoulders, and Tony was far too amused to protest when Thor leaned across Becca to plant a smacking, barely-decent kiss to a speechless Cap’s lips—Tony would have sworn he saw tongue.

Scandalous.

“There,” Thor proclaimed happily once he had released Cap, turning to Tony with a shit-eating grin. “Someone has kissed our fair Captain. Will you allow Rebecca’s dare to be converted to two questions?”

“What the hell?!” Becca demanded right then, smacking Thor’s arm indignantly.

Tony watched, with slight amusement, as Thor tried to placate his rather irate girlfriend, while Steve sat frozen beside them, lips still slightly parted, like he couldn’t quite believe what happened.

Tony snorted at the thought.

“You okay in there, Capsicle?” he asked, grinning smugly when Steve visibly startled. “It can’t have been that great of a kiss, it barely lasted a second.”

“I don’t know,” Wanda piped up from her seat, grinning at Thor in that peculiar way of hers. “I think if the Thunder God kissed me, I’d be speechless too.” Tony gaped at her—because that was the most he’d ever heard her say out loud in two years—and her brother elbowed her in the side while the others blinked at her. “What?” she asked innocently. “He’s very pretty.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony finally conceded, grinning a little at the flabbergasted expression on Becca’s face. “Two questions, Baby-Becs.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, leaning out of Thor’s embrace to down one of the shots set on the table.

Tony graciously waited until she had settled back onto the couch—and it had nothing at all to do with the vicious way Barton was yanking at his hair—before he pulled out the big guns. “So,” he began ominously. “Out of everyone in this room that you’ve made out with,” he gestured grandly. “Who is the worst kisser?”

“Oh God,” Becca groaned dramatically as the group collectively shouted, “ooooooh.”

“Answer the question,” Clint jeered from behind Tony, the others cheering along with him. Becca was flushed as red as Steve had been a minute ago, and she looked furious. Oh, he was going to pay for daring to ask her that in public.

“Come on then,” he said, grinning wickedly. “Who is it?”

Becca groaned and let her head fall back against Thor’s bicep for a moment before she sat up again. “You of all people do not want me to answer that, Tony.”

Tony gasped. “Such outrageous implication. I am an excellent kisser.”

Becca smirked at him and shook her head. “Oh, I’m not saying you’re not. I’m just pointing out that you’re up against the Black Widow and the God of Thunder.”

Said God of Thunder merely smiled beatifically, and the Widow smirked at him—at him.

“Lies,” Tony exclaimed, because there had definitely been extenuating circumstances the last time he’d kissed Becca. Clearly, she was just misremembering—it had been a long time. “I demand a rematch. I was drunk off my ass the last time we made out, and so were you. I can do way better.”

Pepper kicked him in the back—in a very dignified way, he was sure—and Tony muttered, “I mean, not that it matters,” because he wasn’t an idiot.

Becca just grinned smugly—the little shit, turning his question around on him like that—and leaned back against her stupidly pretty boyfriend. “Second question, Tony? Or do you and your hair need a minute to mourn first?”

Tony resisted the urge to run to the nearest bathroom to see what Barton had done to his gorgeous hair. It could wait—he had vengeance to exact.

“Oh, I’m good,” he boasted. “I got a question.” He raised a hand and pointed towards Thor grimly. “About him.” Thor raised an eyebrow at him while Becca groaned. Tony wasn’t worried that Thor would be offended or embarrassed—they had a good enough rapport for him to feel comfortable asking this question in front of him, and Tony knew him well enough to know Thor would probably think it was funny, while Becca would die of embarrassment.

“Tony, no,” Becca said sternly, as though she was the boss of him. He only listened when Pepper or occasionally Rhodey told him not to do something.

“Oh, come on, Baby-Becs,” he whined playfully, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Thor doesn’t mind, do you, Point Break?”

Thor snorted. “Please, by all means, Stark.” He gave Becca a look that was far too sappy for the situation and added, “There is little elskan mín could tell you that I would not be happy to share if asked myself.”

Becca smiled back and added, “And I wouldn’t tell you what he doesn’t want to share anyway.”

“Okay!” Tony exclaimed before those two could start making out on his couch—if anyone should be making out on his couch, it should be him. “None of us are blind… As Little Red said, your boy is pretty—but tell me, how well-proportioned is he?”

He smirked when the rest of the room actually fell silent, because honestly, every single one of them had had a crush on their resident Thunder God at one point or another. Just because Becca was the only one to ever have acted on it—with Cap being a notable exception—didn’t mean they hadn’t all thought about making a move.

He held up his hands, relatively close together, and winked at her and Thor, who was chuckling beside her, shaking his head at them lightly. “Come on, just tell me when I’m getting close.”

“Tony, I’m not telling you the size of his dick,” Becca hissed, cheeks flushed as she downed another shot. “That’s really not—”

Nat interrupted and grinned wickedly at Becca. “Come on, котенок. Don’t be shy. He isn’t.”

The room erupted into jeering and catcalling and Tony barely caught Becca shooting Nat a comically betrayed look before she looked back at Tony and sighed. “More,” she finally said, gesturing towards the distance between his hands. “A lot more.”

Tony raised an eyebrow and moved his hand, jaw dropping a little when Becca shook her head. They continued that way for a few long, tense moments, Becca indicating Tony to give another inch while an awed—slightly impressed—hush fell over the rest of the group.

Thor seemed fairly amused by the entire affair, but Tony was too engrossed in the moment to care.

“Stop,” Becca finally said. “That’s about it.”

“Holy fuck,” Tony choked, eyeing the distance between his hands with wide eyes—because damn, that was impressive—before he realized Steve was staring rather intently too. The super-soldier seemed deep in thought—and possibly drunker than Tony thought—before he nodded at Becca and casually remarked, “You sure? I thought it felt bigger than that.”

The room erupted into chaos again.  

————————

Personal floor Of Steve Rogers, Becca Barnes and Thor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.

November 23rd, 2015

Thor

Rebecca pressed into his arms as soon as he joined her in their bed in the Tower, mere hours after Stark’s impromptu game night, flinging an arm across his chest and a leg over his own. “You took too long,” she complained quietly, the cold tip of her nose pressing against the side of his chest.

“I apologize for the delay,” he hummed, slipping his arms around her to hold her close. He did so enjoy moments like these; he was grateful he had opened his heart to her when she had done so for him—that he had allowed himself to see where their relationship could take them, rather than run away from the possibility. “There was a… a matter that required my attention.”

“You gonna tell me what it is, or should I guess?” she murmured, shifting a little so her head rested on the pillow beside him.

“Letting you guess could be amusing,” he grumbled playfully, reaching out to push a few stray locks of hair from her face, watching her smile widen a little before she reached out to poke him in the side. He snorted and poked back, laughing at her high-pitched squeal, going along when she launched herself at him, allowing her a moment to pretend she could overpower him.

They wrestled for a moment before he rolled her onto her back and pinned her down, grinning down at her with the smuggest grin he could muster. “I won,” he said dryly.

“Gotcha right where I want you, though,” she replied cheekily, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair, pulling him down into a kiss.

After a few slow, soft, languid kisses, however, he pulled away to break the kiss—albeit very reluctantly—and rested his forehead against hers. “While I do enjoy your line of thinking, Krúttið mitt, I could actually use your advice on the matter.”

“Okay,” Becca nodded, smoothing her fingers through his hair before he rolled off of her, settling on his side beside her. She turned on her side too, propping her head up on her hand. “Tell me then.”

Thor sighed heavily, settling his hand atop Becca’s hip, idly rubbing at the soft fabric of her tank top.

“One of my secondary powers,” he explained slowly, trying to find the words to explain what he had sensed without coming off as… creepy. “It… involves the ability to sense pregnancy.” Becca’s eyebrow raised high on her forehead, and Thor chuckled. “I suppose it sounds odd put like that. It is more… I can sense the budding life force. It is not a skill I have taken much time honing… I might be mistaken.”

“Okay,” Becca said slowly. “So who is it?”

“I believe it to be Lady Pepper,” he confessed, looking down to where his hand rested on Becca’s side. “I am simply unsure of how to proceed, and I hoped you might provide some insight. I am still not entirely certain of proper Midgardian protocol in all social situations, and I would hate to offend Lady Pepper with my suspicions.”

“Pep’s pregnant?” Becca breathed, eyes wide and shocked.

Thor nodded silently.

Becca blinked, before she nodded slowly. “And you’re not sure if you should tell her?”

“I think I must,” Thor admitted. “I do not even know if she herself is aware.” He bit his lip and gingerly inquired, “Do you know if they want children? The lady Pepper and Anthony and James?”

“No,” Becca said quietly. “I don’t know. I’ve never talked to them about it. I can’t imagine them being unhappy about it though. A little shocked, probably, but not unhappy. Rhodey has a passel of nieces and nephews and they all dote on them.”

Thor nodded silently, moving to pull Becca closer again, nestling her smaller frame against his larger one comfortably. “Do you want them?” Rebecca whispered so softly that he nearly did not hear her, her face pressed against his shoulder, keeping her expression hidden from him for a long heartbeat before she exhaled and looked up at him. “Children, I mean,” she added quietly, uncertainly.

Thor blinked at her, considering which answer to give, before he settled for honesty. “I did,” he conceded. “I… I always assumed I would have them with…”

“With Loki,” Becca finished for him, smiling sadly at him.

Thor nodded.

“How would that have worked?” she questioned curiously, setting her chin on his shoulder. “He was a man, wasn’t he? Could he—is that a thing, with Aesir?”

Thor smiled lightly and shook his head. “No, but Loki was special. He was born a shapeshifter. I always assumed we would be able to… well, that he would be able to…” He sighed and shrugged a little, careful not to dislodge Becca. “And if he hadn’t been able to, I suppose we would have adopted. There were—there are—plenty of Aesir children in need of a good family.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, lingering for a long moment before he asked, “Do you? Want children?”

“No,” she replied immediately, before blinking, apparently just as startled as Thor by her own harsh tone. “I don’t think…” She breathed shakily. “I don’t think I’d be a good parent. I don’t think I have what that takes, and I… I just don’t know.”

“Oh, Krúttið mitt,” Thor whispered, trailing his fingers through her hair tenderly. “You would be a wonderful parent, I’m certain.”

“What?” Becca looked up at him, eyes wide and confused as she shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t. Being a parent… that requires a kind of selflessness I just don’t have. Having a kid is… it’s making a lifelong sacrifice. I mean,” she floundered, shaking her head again. “I know that that’s not... that you get so much in return, but… You gotta love that kid unconditionally, and I don’t know if I’d be able to do that. I would never… I know what it’s like to know that your parents’ love is conditional. I couldn’t risk ever making my own child feel like that.”

Tears were running down her cheeks, and Thor hated that she had such a skewed vision of herself still, that her parents—who had been fools, clearly, to toss aside someone like his Rebecca—had such a strong hold on her still. He wished he could go back and smack them in their faces, to show them the incredible woman their daughter would become.

“You could never,” Thor pledged, wiping her tears away with the pad of his thumb. “The fact that you worry means that you would never allow your child to feel like that.”

Becca laughed weakly, pulling him down for a quick kiss, her tears tasting salty on his lips.

His fingers fisted in her hair as he kissed her again, deeply. He was not sure what it was about humans that brought out the strongest emotions in him, but all he could feel was desperation to show her that he would not doubt her for a second. She pulled away from him after a moment though, kissing his cheek tenderly. “I love you,” she whispered.  

“And I you, Krúttið mitt,” he replied when she wriggled around to get comfortable, “And you should know… were it possible… if I should choose to begin a family with someone other than Loki… I would surely choose you, Rebecca.”

He felt, rather than saw, her shaky exhale, her fingers curling around his hip tightly. “Thank you.”

Thor smiled weakly and pressed a kiss to her hair, falling asleep with a soft smile on his face.

————————

Pepper Potts, Tony Stark and James Rhodes’ kitchen, Avengers Tower, New York, United States of America

November 24th, 2015

Pepper

“It’s your own fault, you know,” she told Tony amusedly. Her boyfriend had an alcohol tolerance that both impressed and terrified her sometimes, but even Tony’s liver wasn’t able to handle liquor like an Asgardian God, a super soldier or a Russian super spy. She’d told him not to try it, to let them get their silly drinking games out of the way without trying to compete with them, but Tony was… well, Tony was Tony and he hadn’t been able to resist a challenge.

He looked like he was regretting it now.

She wasn’t even sure how he was conscious, much less able to get himself out of their bedroom and into the kitchen. Granted, he hadn’t gotten much further than that—he’d plonked down on the nearest seat and faceplanted on the kitchen island, moaning about the injustice of life or something.

Rhodey, smart man that he was, had stopped drinking around the same time she had, after the game of Truth or Dare had morphed into a game of Never Have I Ever that they could clearly not keep up with, not with Tony “absolutely-no-shame” Stark, Thor “I-am-so-old-I’ve-done-everything” Odinson and Steve “I-only-look-innocent” Rogers playing.

“Hey honey,” she told Rhodey when he followed Tony in, smiling when he patted Tony on the head when he walked past him, and turning into his embrace to accept his customary kiss on the cheek. “You look better than Tony does.”

Rhodey snorted as he moved past her and opened the fridge. “Everyone looks better than Tony right now. He hasn’t found the time to destroy Clint’s masterpiece yet.”

Pepper barely managed to suppress a grin at that.

Tony had indeed managed to get drunk enough to forget what Clint had done to his hair, and had fallen into bed wearing it just like Clint had styled it—which meant half of their pillowcases were now smeared with green and purple coloring spray, an unholy amount of glitter, and hairspray. The mohawk Clint had meticulously shaped Tony’s hair in had deflated overnight, and his hair mostly looked messy now—it could’ve passed for his normal bedhead if not for the vibrant patches of bright green and purple and glitter in there.  

“Miss Potts,” J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupted her train of thought. “Master Thor is requesting access to your private floor. He informed me it is quite important he speak to you.”

Pepper exchanged a glance with Rhodey, who looked as confused by the early visit from their resident god as she felt, before she shrugged. “Let him in then, J.A.R.V.I.S.” She turned to Rhodey and smiled lightly. “Take care of Tony while I talk to Thor? I doubt it’s that serious, or he would’ve just busted in here without asking politely.”

Rhodey chuckled and nodded, catching her hand and drawing her close for a quick peck on the lips.

She relished in the touch for a moment before she pulled away, walking out of the kitchen to meet Thor in the hallway. The God of Thunder stood just inside her door, looking comically large in the narrow hallway—she wasn’t actually sure why they hadn’t designed the hallway to be bigger—and slightly underdressed in his sweatpants and t-shirt in the classy, if she did say so herself, décor she and her interior designer had painstakingly put together.

“Good morning,” she told him warmly, leaning in to hug him lightly when he approached. “What brings you here so early? I thought Becca would force you to stay in bed until early afternoon, at least.”

It was quite interesting to see how bashful the man could be when you knew the right button to push—the man hadn’t batted an eyelash when they had been discussing the more intimate details of his anatomy right in front of him yesterday, but when Pepper displayed any knowledge of how he and Becca felt about each other, he blushed almost as hard as Steve would when something sexual came up.

“Ah, well,” Thor shrugged, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “Rebecca is still asleep, and I think I might join her again later, but I… I had something of importance to speak to you about. It did not feel right putting it off.”

That didn’t sound ominous at all.

She eyed him shrewdly, trying to find any sort indication as to what was so important he wouldn’t feel comfortable about waiting to talk to her, but she was coming up blank.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I think Rhodey’s making breakfast. Do you want to join them?”

He shuffled his feet a little, and it was so odd, because she’d never seen him act this nervous and uncertain before, and she had been there when he told Becca he loved her the first time—although they had all been there, really, and he’d kind of blurted it out in the middle of their Christmas party when he turned up suddenly after having disappeared for two weeks.

“If you don’t mind, I think it’s best we speak in private first.”

She nodded, trying not to show that his hesitance was making her a little anxious, and nodded towards the living room. “Let’s talk there then.”

They didn’t speak while they settled, and she took the time to observe Thor. He’d looked at ease yesterday, calm and relaxed even when Becca had been mad at him for kissing Steve, although he’d been a little pensive at times—she hadn’t missed that he’d been looking at her a lot during the night too. She wondered if whatever he wanted to talk about had been on his mind for longer—but he looked downright uncomfortable now. Maybe it was something he’d been holding in for a while, something that was threatening to burst out of him if he tried to keep it in any longer.

She couldn’t fathom what though.

It wasn’t like they were particularly close. They’d chatted, of course, and she liked it when he came to her for recommendations for things to do in the city, but they didn’t tend to spend a lot of time one-on-one unless it was in an official capacity—Stark Industries, after all, functioned as the Asgardian Ambassador’s official liaison still.

“So,” she said when he’d sat down on the seat opposite hers. “What can I do for you?”

Thor smiled for the first time since she had seen him this morning, and said, “I suppose what brings me here is more something I can do for you, Lady Pepper, rather than you for me.”

Pepper blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Thor swallowed thickly and looked away for a moment. “I do not know how much you know about the mythology surrounding me and my family in this world?” He paused, and Pepper shrugged, wholly confused and unsure where he was trying to go with this line of conversation.

“Not a lot,” she admitted. “No more than the general public, I’d say.”

Thor nodded. “I am mostly known as a God of Thunder. It is, however, not the only power the Norns have given me.”

Pepper nodded slowly, still unsure.

“I am also a God of Fertility,” he said, looking at her oddly. “I’ve not had much use for my other powers,” Thor admitted slowly. “Therefore I cannot say with absolute certainly, but…” he sighed and shrugged, looking up at her from beneath his eyelashes.

She blinked.

“I’m sorry,” she said slowly, “Thor, I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

Thor sighed and hung his head, and Pepper abruptly felt like she’d kicked a dog, her stomach twisting at the sorry sight he made. She didn’t understand though, because he was making no sense—what would him being a fertility god along with a thunder god have to—

Oh.

She froze, eyes wide and fixed on Thor.

He smiled wryly. “I cannot say with absolute certainty, but I do believe you might be with child.”

“Oh,” Pepper breathed, hand falling to her abdomen without any sort of conscious thought. She swallowed, mentally calculating if she’d be able to reschedule the appointments she had tomorrow, so she’d be able to go see her gynecologist, because the word of a god of fertility was all well and good, but she’d need to confirm it with an actual doctor before she could…

Before she could think of it as real.

“How do you know it’s me?” she asked Thor curiously. “Could it not be Natasha? Or Becca?”

“Ah,” Thor smiled. “Rebecca has been with none but me in quite some time. Aesir cannot reproduce with humans, so I am quite certain it was not her. As for the lady Natasha,” he fell silent and frowned. “I’ve been told she cannot bear children and has no wish to either.”

Pepper nodded slowly, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. It wasn’t that she, Rhodey and Tony had never talked about having children, or that they’d been particularly careful about it, but it had always seemed like a farfetched idea. Their careers had always come first, and they’d been happy with just the three of them. She’d never really craved being a mother, but… that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be happy if… if Thor was correct.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “It’s…” She stopped and shook her head. “It’s not what I was expecting, but I’m glad you told me.”

“Of course,” Thor insisted sincerely. “It was the least I could do.”

She smiled tightly. “If you don’t mind, I think… I think I have to talk to my partners.”

Thor shot to his feet, nodding urgently. “Of course. It’s time I return to Rebecca anyway. She’ll be cross with me for leaving the bed before she woke. With some luck I can be back before she wakes.” He smiled charmingly and Pepper couldn’t help but smile back—it was a very nice smile, after all, and she was only human.

Becca was a lucky girl.

She followed him back out into the hallway, eyes lingering a little on the more relaxed set of his shoulders—she supposed the hard part was over now, for him. He stopped at the door, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob before he turned back to her with the sincerest expression she had ever seen on anyone—including Steve.

“I know we are not quite as… close as the others, but… I do like to think of us all as a family, of a sorts,” he began, and the admittance made her feel warm. The Avengers, despite their clashing personalities, had become somewhat of a—slightly dysfunctional—family. “I just want to say that if you need someone to speak to, regardless of what decision you make, I will be here for you,” Thor continued, and Pepper abruptly felt tears burning in her eyes.

She knew she wasn’t sure yet, that she hadn’t confirmed anything, but—definitely hormones.

“Thank you,” she croaked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Thor smiled. “Please do.”

Before she could say anything else, he slipped through the door, leaving her alone in the hallway, tears still burning in her eyes and her two partners waiting for her in the kitchen.

“Well,” she told herself, inhaling deeply and holding the breath for a moment before she exhaled shakily. She glanced down to her belly, as flat as it had been that morning, and hesitantly rested her hand on her lower abdomen. “Guess it’s time to talk to the men, isn’t it?”

“Here I go.”

————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

[mason-mem]

I Never Ast No Favors C. M. Kornbluth I Never Ast No Favors Dear Mr. Marino: I hesitate to take pen in hand and write you because I guess you do not remember me except maybe as a punk kid you did a good turn, and I know you must be a busy man running your undertaking parlor as well as the Third Ward and your barber shop. I never ast no favors of nobody but this is a special case which I hope you will agree when I explain. To refresh your memory as the mouthpiece says in court, my name is Anthony Cornaro only maybe you remember me better as Tough Tony, which is what they call me back home in the Ward. I am not the Tough Tony from Water Street who is about 55 and doing a sixer up the river, I am the Tough Tony who is going on seventeen from Brecker Street and who you got probation for last week after I slash that nosy cop that comes flatfooting into the grocery store where some friends and I are just looking around not knowing it is after hours and that the groceryman has went home. That is the Tough Tony that I am. I guess you remember me now so I can go ahead. With the probation, not that I am complaining, the trouble starts. The mouthpiece says he has known this lad for years and he comes from a very fine churchgoing family and he has been led astray by bad companions. So all right, the judge says three years' probation, but he goes on to say if. If this, if that, environment, bad influences, congested city streets, our vital dairy industry denuded —such a word from a judge!—of labor . . . Before I know what has happened, I am signing a paper, my Mama is putting her mark on it and I am on my way toChiungaCountyto milk cows. I figure the judge does not know I am a personal friend of yours and I do not want to embarrass you by mentioning your name in open court, I figure I will get a chance later to straighten things out. Also, to tell you the truth, I am too struck with horror to talk. Oq the ride upstate I am handcuffed to the juvenile court officer so I cannot make a break for it, but at last I get time to think and I realise that it is not as bad as it looks. I am supposed to work for a dame named Mrs. Parry and get chow, clothes and Prevailering Wages. I figure it takes maybe a month for her to break me in on the cow racket or even longer if I play dumb. During the month I get a few bucks, a set of threads and take it easy and by then I figure you will have everything straightened out and I can get back to my regular occupation, only more careful this time. Experience is the best teacher, Mr. Marino, as I am sure you know. Well, we arrive at this town Chiunga Forks and I swear to God I never saw such a creepy place. You wouldn't believe it. The main drag is all of four blocks long and the stores and houses are from wood. I expect to see Gary Cooper stalking down the street with a scowl on his puss and his hands on his guns looking for the bad guys. Four hours from the Third Ward in a beat-up '48 police department Buick—you wouldn't believe it. We park in front of a hash house, characters in rubber boots gawk at us, the court officer takes off the cuffs and gabs with the driver but does not lose sight of me. While we are waiting for this Mrs. Parry to keep the date I study the bank building across the street and develop some ideas which will interest you, Mr. Marino, but which I will not go into right now. All of a sudden there is a hassle on the sidewalk. A big woman with grey hair and a built like Tony Galento is kicking a little guy who looks like T.B. Louis the Book, who I guess you know, but not so muscular and wearing overalls. She is kicking him right in the keister, five-six times. Each time I shudder, and so maybe does the bank building across the street. "Shoot my, dawg, will you!" she yells at the character. "I said I'd kick your butt from here toScranton when I caught up with you, Dud Wingle!" "Leave me be!" he squawks, trying to pry her hands off his shoulders. "He was chasin' deer! He was chasin' deer!" Thud—thud—thud. "I don't keer if he was chasin' deer, panthers or butterflies." Thud. "He was my dawg and you shot him!" Thud. She was drawing quite a crowd. The characters in rubber boots are forgetting all about us to stare at her and him. Up comes a flatfoot who I later learn is the entire manpower of Chiunga Forks' lousiest; he says to the big woman: "Now, Ella" a few times, and she finally stops booting the little character and lets him go. "What do you want, Henry?" she growls at the flatfoot and he asks weakly: "Silver Bell dropped her calf yet?" The little character is limping away rubbing himself. The big broad watches him regretfully and says to the flatfoot: "Yesterday, Henry. Now if you'll excuse me I have to look for my new hired boy from the city. I guess that's him over there." She strolls over to us and yanks open the Buick's door, almost taking it off the hinges. "I'm Mrs. Ella Parry," she says to me, sticking out her hand. "You must be the Cornaro boy the Probation Association people wired me about." I shake hands and say, "Yes, ma'am." The officer turns me over grinning like a skunk eating beans. I figure Mrs. Parry lives in one of the wood houses in Chiunga Forks, but no. We climb into a this-year Willys truck and take off for the hills. I do not have much to say to this lady wrestler but wish I had somebody smuggle me a rod to kind of even things a little between her and me. With that built she could break me in half by accident. I try to get in good with her by offering to customize her truck. "I could strip off the bumpers and put on a couple of foglights, maybe new fenders with a little trim to them," I say, "and it wouldn't cost you a dime. Even out here there has got to be some parts place where a person can heist what he needs." "Quiet, Bub," she says all of a sudden, and shields her eyes peering down a side road where a car is standing in front of a shack. "I swear," she says, "that looks like Dud Wingle's Ford in front of Mi/' Sigafoos' place." She keeps her neck twisting around to study it until it is out of sight. And she looks worried. I figure it is not a good time to talk and anyway maybe she has notions about customizing and does not approve of it. "What," she says, "would Dud Wingle want with Miz' Sigafoos?" "I don't know, ma'am," I say. "Wasn't he the gentleman you was kicking from here toScranton?" "Shucks, Bub, that was just a figger of speech. If I'd of wanted to kick him from here toScrantonI'd of done it. Dud and Jim and Ab and Sime think they got a right to shoot your dog if he chases the deer. I'm a peaceable woman or I'd have the law on them for shootin' Grip. But maybe I did kind of lose my temper." She looked worrieder yet. "Is something wrong, ma'am?" I ask. You never can tell, but a lot of old dames talk to me like I was their uncle; to tell you the truth this is my biggest problem in a cathouse. It must be because I am a kind of thoughtful guy and it shows. Mrs. Parry is no exception. She says to me: "You don't know the folks up here yet, Bub, so you don't know about Miz' Sigafoos. I'm old English stock so I don't hold with their foolishness, but——" And here she looked real worried. "Miz' Sigafoos is what they call a hex doctor." "What's that, ma'am?" "Just a lot of foolishness. Don't you pay any attention," she says, and then she has to concentrate on the driving. We are turning off the two-lane state highway and going up, up, up into the hills, off a blacktop road, off a gravel road, off a dirt road. No people. No houses. Fences and cows or maybe horses, I can't tell for sure. Finally we are at her place, which is from wood and in two buildings. I start automatically for the building that is clean, new-painted, big and expensive. "Hold on, Bub," she says. "No need to head for the barn first thing. Let's get you settled in the house first and then there'll be a plenty of work for you." I do a double take and see that the big, clean, expensive building is the barn. The little, cheap, rundown place is the house. I say to myself: "Tough Tony, you're gonna pray tonight that Mr. Marino don't forget to tell the judge you're a personal friend of his and get you out of this," But that night I do not pray. I am too tired. After throwing sacks of scratch feed and laying mash around, I run the baling machine and I turn the oats in the loft and I pump water until my back is aching jello and then I go hiking out to the woodlot and chop down trees and cut them up with a chain saw. It is surprising how fast I learn and how willing I am when I remember what Mrs. Parry did to Dud Wingle. I barely get to sleep it seems like when Mrs. Parry is yanking the covers off me laughing and I see through the window that the sky is getting a little light. "Time to rise, Bub," she bawls. "Breakfast on the table." She strides to the window and flexes her muscles, breathing deep. "It's going to be a fine day. I can tell when an animal's sick to death, and I can tell when it's going to be fine all day. Rise and shine, Bub. We have a lot of work ahead. I was kind of easy on you yesterday seeing you was new here, so we got a bit behindhand." I eye the bulging muscles and say "Yes, ma'am." She serves a good breakfast, I have to admit. Usually I just have some coffee around eleven when I wake up and maybe a meatball sandwich around four, but the country air gives you an appetite like I always heard. Maybe I didn't tell you there was just the two of us. Her husband kicked off a couple years ago. She gave one of her boys half the farm because she says she don't believe in letting them hang around without a chance to make some money and get married until you die. The other boy, nineteen, got drafted two months ago and since then she is running the place on her own hook because for some reason or other it is hard to get people to work on a farm. She says she does not understand this and I do not enlighten her. First thing after breakfast she tells me to make four crates from lumber in the toolshed, go to the duckpond and put the fourMuscovyducks in the crates so she can take them to town and sell them. She has been meaning to sell theMuscovyducks for some time since the word has been getting around that she was pro-communist for having such a breed of ducks when there were plenty of good American ducks she could of raised. "Though," she says, "in my opinion the Walterses ought to sell off theirPeking ducks too because the Chinese are just as bad as the Roossians." I make the crates which is easy and I go to the duck-pool. There are four ducks there but they are not swimming; they have sunk. I go and tell Mrs. Parry and she looks at me like I was crazy. "Yeah," I tell her. "Sunk. Down at the bottom of the pond, drownded. I guess maybe during the night they forgot to keep treading water or something." She didn't say a word. She just strides down the path to the duckpond and looks into it and sees the four ducks. They are big, horrible things with kind of red Jimmy Valentine masks over their eyes, and they are lying at the bottom of the pond. She wades in, still without a word, I and fishes them out. She gets a big shiv out of her apron pocket, slits the ducks open, yanks out their lungs and slits them open. Water dribbles out. "Drownded," she mutters. "If there was snapping turtles to drag them under . . . but there ain't." I do not understand what the fuss is about and ast her if she can't sell them anyway. She says no, it wouldn't be honest, and I should get a shovel and bury them. Then there is an awful bellering from the cowbarn. "Agnes of Lincolnshire!" Mrs. Parry squawks and dashes for the barn. "She's dropping her calf ahead of time!" I run along beside her. "Should I call the cops?" I pant. "They always get to the place before the ambulance and you don't have to pay them nothing. My married sister had three kids delivered by the cops—" But it seems it's different with cows and anyway they have a different kind of flatfoot out here that didn't go to Police Academy. Mrs. Parry finally looks up from the calf and says "I think I saved it. I know I saved it. I can tell when an animal's dying. Bub, go to the phone and call Miz' Croley and ask her if she can possibly spare Brenda to come over and do the milkin' tonight and tomorrow morning. I dassn't leave Agnes and the calf; they need nursing." I stagger out of the cowbarn, throw up two-three times and go to the phone in the house. I seen them phones with flywheels in the movies so I know how to work it. Mrs. Croley cusses and moans and then says all right she'll send Brenda over in the Ford and please to tell Mrs. Parry not to keep her no longer than she has to because she has a herd of her own that needs milking. I tell Mrs. Parry in the barn and Mrs. Parry snaps that Mrs. Croley has a living husband and a draft-proof farmhand and she swore she didn't know what things were coming to when a neighbor wouldn't help another neighbor out. I ast casually: "Who is this Brenda, ma'am?" "Miz' Croley's daughter. Good for nothing." I don't ast no more questions but I sure begin to wait with interest for a Ford to round the bend of the road. It does while I am bucking up logs with the chainsaw. Brenda is a blondie about my age, a little too big for her dress—an effect which I always go for, whether in the Third Ward or Chiunga County. I don't have a chance to talk to her until lunch, and then all she does is giggle. But who wants conversation? Then a truck comes snorting up the driveway. Something inside the truck is snorting louder than the truck. Mrs. Parry throws up her hands. "Land, I forgot! Belshazzar the Magnificent for Princess Leilani!" She gulps coffee and dashes out. "Brenda," I said, "what was that all about?" She giggles and this time blushes. I throw down my napkin and go to the window. The truck is being backed to a field with a big board fence around it. Mrs. Parry is going into the barn and is leading a cow into the field. The cow is mighty nervous and I begin to understand why. The truckdriver opens the tailgate and out comes a snorting bull. I think: well, I been to a few stag shows but this I never seen before. Maybe a person can learn something in the country after all. Belshazzar the Magnificent sees Princess Leilani. He snorts like Charles Boyer. Princess Leilani cowers away from him like Bette Davis. Belshazzar the Magnificent paws the ground. Princess Leilani trembles. And then Belshazzar the Magnificent yawns and starts eating grass. Princess Leilani looks up, startled and says: "Huh?" No, on second thought it is not Princess Leilani who says "Huh?" It is Brenda, at the other kitchen window. She sees me watching her, giggles, blushes and goes to the shik and starts doing dishes. I guess this is a good sign, but I don't press my luck. I go outside, where Mrs. Parry is cussing out the truck-driver. "Some bull!" she yells at him. "What am I supposed to do now? How long is Leilani going to stay in season? What if I can't line up another stud for her? Do you realise what it's going to cost me in veal and milk checks—" Yatata, yatata, yatata, while the truckdriver keeps trying to butt hi with excuses and Belshazzar the Magnificent eats grass and sometimes gives Princess Lei-lani a brotherly lick on the nose, for by that time Princess Leilani has dropped the nervous act and edged over mooing plaintively. Mrs. Parry yells: "See that? I don't hold with artificial insemination but you dang stockbreeders are driving us dairy farmers to it! Get your—your steer off my property before I throw him off! I got work to do even if he hasn't! Belshazzar the Magnificent—hah\" She turns on me. "Don't just stand around gawking, Bub. When you get the stovewood split you can stack it in the woodshed." I scurry off and resume Operation Woodlot, but I take it a little easy which I can do because Mrs. Parry is in the cowbarn nursing Agnes of Lincolnshire and the preemie calf. The next morning at breakfast I am in a bad temper, Brenda has got the giggles and Mrs. Parry is stiff and tired from sleeping hi the barn. We are a gruesome threesome, and then a car drives up and a kid of maybe thirty comes bursting into the kitchen. He has been crying. His eyes are red and there are clean places on his face where the tears ran down. "Ma!" he whimpers at Mrs. Parry. "I got to talk to you! You got to talk to Bonita, she says I don't love her no more and she's going to leave me!" "Hush up^ George," she snaps at him. "Come into the parlor." They go into the parlor and Brenda whistles: "Whoo-ee! Wait'111 tell Maw about this!" "Who is he?" "Miz' Parry's boy George. She gave him the south half of the farm and built him a house on it. Bonita's his wife. She's a stuck-up girl from Ware County and she wears falsies and dyes her hair and—" Brenda looks around, lowers her voice and whispers "—and she sends her worshing to the laundry in town." "God in Heaven," I say. "Have the cops heard about this?" "Oh, it's legal, but you just shouldn't do it." "I see. I misunderstood, I guess. Back in the Third Ward it's a worse rap than mopery with intent to gawk. The judges are ruthless with it." Her eyes go round. "Is that a fact?" "Sure. Tell your mother about it." Mrs. Parry came back hi with her son and said to us: "Clear out, you kids. I want to make a phone call." "I'll start the milkin'," Brenda said. "And I'll framble the portistan while it's still cool and barkney," I say. "Sure," Mrs. Parry says, cranking the phone. "Go and do that, Bub." She is preoccupied. I go through the kitchen door, take one sidestep, flatten against the house and listen. Reception is pretty good. "Bonita?" Mrs. Parry says into the phone. "Is that you, Bonita? Listen, Bonita, George is here and he asked me to call you and tell you he's sorry. I ain't exactly going to say that. I'm going to say that you're acting like a blame fool . . ." She chuckles away from the phone and says: "She wants to talk to you, George/Don't be too eager, boy." I slink away from the kitchen door, thinking: "Ah-hah!" I am thinking so hard that Mrs. Parry bungles into me when she walks out of the kitchen sooner than I expect. She grabs me with one of those pipe-vise hands and snaps: "You young devil, were you listening to me on the phone?" Usually, it is the smart thing to deny everything and ast for your mouthpiece, but up here they got no mouthpieces. For once I tell the truth and cop a plea. "Yes, Mrs. Parry. I'm so ashamed of myself you can't imagine. I always been like that. It's a psy-cho-logical twist I got for listening. I can't seem to control it. Maybe I read too many bad comic books. But honest, I won't breathe a word." Here I have the sense to shut up. She shakes her head. "What about the ducks that sank and Agnes dropping her calf before her time? What about Belshazzar?" She begins to breathe through her nostrils. "It's hexin', that's what it is!" "What's hexin', ma'am?" "Heathen doings by that old Miz' Sigafoos. She's been warned and warned plenty to stick to her doctoring. I hold nothing against her for curing the croup or maybe selling a young man love potion if he's goin' down to Scranton to sell his crop and play around a little. But she's not satisfied with that, I guess. Dud Wingle must of gone to her with a twenty-dollar bill to witch my farm!" I do not know what to make of this. My mama, of course, has told me about la vecchia religione, but I never know they believe in stuff like that over here. "Can you go to the cops, ma'am?" I ast. She snorts like Belshazzar the Magnificent. "Cops! A fat lot old Henry Bricker would know about witchin'. No, Bub, I guess I'll handle this myself. I ain't the five-times-great-granddaughter of Pru Posthlewaite for nothin'!" "Who was Pru— what you said?" "Hanged in Salem, Massachusettes, in 1680 for witchcraft. Her coven name was Little Gadfly, but I guess she wasn't so little. The first two ropes broke—but we got no time to stand around talkin'. I got to find my Ma's truck in the attic. You go get the black rooster from the chicken run. I wonder where there's some chalk?" And she walks off to the house, mumbling. I walk to the chicken run thinking she has flipped. The black rooster is a tricky character, very fast on his feet and also I am new at the chicken racket. It takes me half an hour to stalk him down, during which time incidentally the Ford leaves with Brenda in it and George drives away in his car. See you later, Brenda, I think to myself. I go to the kitchen door with the rooster screaming in my arms and Mrs. Parry says: "Come on in with him and set him anywhere." I do, Mrs. Parry scatters some cornflakes on the floor and the rooster calms down right away and stalks around picking it up. Mrs. Parry is sweaty and dust-covered and there are some dirty old papers rolled up on the kitchen table. She starts fooling around on the floor with one of the papers and a hunk of carpenter's chalk, and just to be doing something I look at the rest of them. Honest to God, you never saw such lousy spelling and handwriting. Tayke the Duste off one Olde Ymmage Quhich Ye Myn-gel—like that. I shake my head and think: it's the cow racket. No normal human being can take this life. She has flipped and I don't blame her, but it will be a horrible thing if it becomes homicidal. I look around for a poker or something and start to edge away. I am thinking of a dash from the door to the Willys and then scorching into town to come back with the men in the little white coats. She looks up at me and says: "Don't go away, Bub. This is woman's work, but I need somebody to hold the sword and palm and you're the onliest one around." She grins. "I guess you never saw anything like this in the city, hey?" "No, ma'am," I say, and notice that my voice is very faint. "Well, don't let it skeer you. There's some people it'd skeer, but the Probation Association people say they call you Tough Tony, so I guess you won't take fright." "No, ma'am." "Now what do we do for a sword? I guess this bread knife'U—no; the ham slicer. It looks more like a sword. Hold it in your left hand and get a couple of them gilded bulrushes from the vase in the parlor. Mind you wipe your feet before you tread on the carpet! And then come back. Make it fast." She starts to copy some stuff that looks like Yiddish writing onto the floor and I go into the parlor. I am about to tiptoe to the front door when she yells: "Bub! That you?" Maybe I could beat her in a race for the car, maybe not. I shrug. At least I have a knife—and know how to use it. I bring her the gilded things from the vase. Ugh! While I am out she has cut the head off the rooster and is sprinkling its blood over a big chalk star and the writing on the floor. But the knife makes me feel more confident even though I begin to worry about how it will look if I have to do anything with it. I am figuring that maybe I can hamstring her if she takes off after me, and meanwhile I should humor her because maybe she will snap out of it. "Bub," she says, "hold the sword and palms in front of you pointing up and don't step inside the chalk lines. Now, will you promise me not to tell anybody about the words I speak? The rest of this stuff don't matter; it's down in all the books and people have their minds made up that it don't work. But about the words, do you promise?" "Yes, ma'am. Anything you say, ma'am." So she starts talking and the promise was not necessary because it's in some foreign language and I don't talk foreign languages except sometimes a little Italian to my mama. I am beginning to yawn when I notice that we have company. He is eight feet tall, he is green, he has teeth like Red Riding Hood's grandma. I dive through the window, screaming. When Mrs. Parry comes out she finds me in a pile of broken glass, on my knees, praying. She clamps two fingers on my ear and hoists me to my feet. "Stop that praying," she says. "He's complaining about it. Says it makes him itch. And you said you wouldn't be skeered! Now come inside where I can keep an eye on you and behave yourself. The idea! The very idea!" To tell you the truth, I don't remember what happens after this so good. There is some talk between the green character and Mrs. Parry about her five-times-great-grandmother who, it seems, is doing nicely in a warm climate. There is an argument in which the green character gets shifty and says he doesn't know who is working for Miz' Sigafoos these days. Miz' Parry threatens to let me pray again and the green character gets sulky and says all right he'll send for him and rassle with him but he is sure he can lick him. The next thing I recall is a grunt-and-groan exhibition between the green character and a smaller purple character who must of arrived when I was blacked out or something. This at least I know something about because I am a television fan. It is a very slow match, because when one of the characters, for instance, bends the other character's arm it just bends and does not break. But a good big character can lick a good little character every time and finally greenface has got his opponent tied into a bow-knot. "Be gone," Mrs. Parry says to the purple character, "and never more molest me or mine. Be gone, be gone, be gone." He is gone, and I never do find out if he gets unknotted. "Now fetch me Miz' Sigafoos." Blip! An ugly little old woman is sharing the ring with the winner and new champeen. She spits at Mrs. Parry: "So you it was dot mine Teufel haff ge-schtolen!" Her English is terrible. A greenhorn. "This ain't a social call, Miz' Sigafoos," Mrs. Parry says coldly. "I just want you to unwitch my farm and kinfolks. And if you're an honest woman you'll return his money to that sneakin', dog-murderin' shiftless squirt, Dud Wingle." "Yah," the old woman mumbles. She reaches up and feels the biceps of the green character. "Yah, I guess maybe dot I besser do. Who der Yunger iss?" She is looking at me. "For why the teeth on his mouth go clop-clop-clop? Und so white the face on his head iss! You besser should feed him, Ella." "Missus Parry to you, Miz' Sigafoos, if you don't mind. Now the both of you be gone, be gone, be gone." At last we are alone. "Now," Mrs. Parry grunts, "maybe we can get back to farmin'. Such foolishness and me a busy woman." She looks at me closely and says: "I do believe the old fool was right. You're as white as a sheet." She feels my fore- head. "Oh, shoot! You have a temperature. You better get to bed. If you ain't better in the morning I'll call Doc Mines." So I am in the bedroom writing this letter, Mr. Marino, and I hope you will help me out. Like I said, I never ast no favors but this is special. Mr. Marino, will you please go to the judge and tell him I have a change of heart and don't want no probation? Tell him I want to pay my debt to society. Tell him I want to go to jail for three years, and for them to come and get me right away. Sincerely, ANTHONY (Tough Tony) CORNARO. P.S.—On my way to get a stamp for this I notice that I have some grey hairs, which is very unusual for a person going on seventeen. Please tell the judge I wouldn't mind if they give me solitary confinement and that maybe it would help me pay my debt to society. In haste, T.T.

[everlarkficexchange]

Mockingjay Inn

Written by: @burkygirl

Prompt 25: Katniss and Peeta are both frequent pop-in guests at an out-of-the-way B&B. One weekend, it is surprisingly booked up and the manager asks if they can share a suite in an effort to be less of an inconvenience for such loyal customers and since they sort of know each other. (Submitted by @roseymama )

Rated E, Trigger warnings for smut, a few curse words and mentions of a dying family member.

———

The silver Civic slipped up the paved drive that sloped through the woods before bursting into the clearing where a white, two-storey colonial waited serenely, like a queen holding court.

The driveway twisted around a shade garden tucked into a copse of trees and Katniss veered into the parking area, pushing the grief that threatened to overwhelm her away long enough to shift the car into neutral, set the parking brake and turn the key. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall against the headrest and drew in a breath. Her belly filled with air and then she expelled it slowly, imagining the stresses of her day floating away. She did it again.  And again, drawing the negative energy along her limbs and visualizing it drifting away on the breath. Some days it helped.

Today was not one of those days, not after the news Prim had delivered this afternoon.

Her eyelids fluttered open and the square corners of the heritage home came back into view; its perfect symmetry, its black shutters and red front door bidding her welcome. The sheltering walls of the Mockingjay Inn had become a second home to her these last months. She loved this old house, tucked away in the woods, invisible from the main road and advertised only by word of mouth. Her old school friend, Madge, had painstakingly renovated it after inheriting it from her grandmother a few years ago. It was a labour of love for Madge, who seemed to have planted her spring flowers since Katniss was here last week. She spotted the happy faces of pansies peeking out from around the hostas that lined the beds next to the house and red and white petunias spilled from the urns on the front steps.

When she stepped from the car, the heady rush of the crisp breeze set her heart racing and teased at the hem of her skirt. A fresh gust whipped the wayward wisps of raven hair that always escaped the confines of her braid. She breathed deeply again, filling her body with the brisk, clean air and whisking away the stench of slow decay and antiseptic attempting to permeate her bones. This time, her exhale carried a piece of her burden away.

Her sorrow eased, however briefly, Katniss popped open the trunk of her car and grabbed her black overnight bag. She’d go inside, get checked in, and then curl up in front of the Inn’s fireplace with a glass of wine. If she was lucky, Peeta would be there already and they could chat. It was a real stroke of luck that his business seemed to bring him to Panem, New York every week since she’d first met him here at the Inn. There were few things she enjoyed more than sitting beside Peeta as he sketched whatever came to mind and they talked about the days that had passed since they last saw each other. She loved putting aside the drama of her own life to listen to stories about the eccentric customers who frequented his gallery.

Her feet all but flew up the steps and she breezed through the door only to find Madge and Peeta engaged in a serious conversation near the antique dresser that Madge had placed in the foyer and from which she liked to conduct her business.

Peeta’s hand was fisted in the golden curls at the back of his head. He pulled his hair and then released it to scratch at the back of his neck. In the dresser’s mirror, Katniss could see that his face was twisted in consternation while Madge tried, a little desperately, to convince him of something.

Madge’s offered Katniss a bright smile as the door closed behind her. “Hello, Katniss. Welcome back!”

Peeta nodded in her direction, the expression in his usually bright blue eyes still troubled. “Katniss.”

“What’s going on?” Katniss dropped her bag on the Oriental rug arranged under the chandelier in the middle of the room.

Peeta grimaced and dropped his hand to the granite top of the dresser. “You’re going to love this one, Katniss.”

Madge shushed him. “Katniss, the Inn has just been given a remarkable opportunity. A team from a Capitol TV travel show is coming to do a story on the area and they want to feature the Mockingjay Inn as Panem’s best kept secret.”

Katniss’s chest surged with pride for her friend. “Well, it is,” she said firmly. “That’s wonderful, Madge! Such great exposure for you!”

Madge beamed, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “It is. I’m so thrilled. I just knew you’d understand.”

Peeta scoffed. “No, she doesn’t Madge. You haven’t told her when they’re arriving.”

A leery tingle of suspicion crept up Katniss’s spine. “When, Madge?”

“Tonight,” her friend enthused. “So, if you and Peeta would just agree, then everything will be just perfect.”

“Madge…” Peeta warned.

Madge caught her perfect pink bottom lip between her teeth. “Well, you see, Katniss,” she cleared her throat. “They will be staying tonight, to get the full experience. They require four rooms, and the Inn has-”

“Five,” Peeta interrupted impatiently. “The Inn has five rooms. Madge wants us to share a room.”

“No,” Madge corrected hastily. “The Inn has six bedrooms. The master suite has two bedrooms. It’s usually booked by families, but you and Peeta are such good friends, Katniss, that I’m sure it would work. I’ll cut your rate in half for tonight, if you’ll agree.”

Katniss had to admit that a cut on her room was rather appealing. Travelling up to Panem from the city each weekend was costing her a fortune. She could stay elsewhere, but the lonely, cookie-cutter rooms of the hotels in the downtown held no appeal at all. She could stay at her sister Prim’s house but that felt like a prison sentence, especially after Prim’s revelation today. The quiet of the Inn and her time with Peeta have been her oasis in the middle of this ordeal. She wasn’t sure she would get through the night if she wasn’t able to put her troubles aside for a little while and enjoy his company. Plus, she knew she would be safe with him in the suite.

“Okay,” she decided. “I’ll allow it.”

She almost laughed at their reactions. Madge’s face was the picture of relief. Peeta’s was filled with shock.

“Really?” they said in unison.

She shrugged. “Who am I to turn down a cheap night in a four-star bed and breakfast?”

“Peeta?” asked Madge. Katniss watched him clear his throat and nod.

“If Katniss is comfortable with it, then I’ll be fine,” he softly replied.

Madge was still clapping her hands in glee when Katniss turned to pick up her suitcase and started for the mahogany staircase. “Alright Madge, show us tonight’s accommodations.”

——

The room was not what she expected.

As they’d travelled up the broad steps in the heart of the house, Madge had nattered on about her  master suite, then she’d opened the door to the room and whisked off to prepare the other rooms for her Capitol TV guests.

A queen-sized four-poster bed dressed in a russet orange duvet graced the main room of the suite and was heaped with a mound of plush and inviting pillows. In the corner, a couple of rich leather armchairs with embroidered footstools flanked a gas fireplace. Two doors stood firmly closed on each side of the bed. Behind one door was a tiny private bathroom with a marble stand up shower. Behind the other was tucked a double bed and a small nightstand. Madge had obviously renovated a walk-in closet and a dressing room to construct the suite. It was perfect for a family with young children.

Not so perfect for a couple of friends, Katniss thought, and scowled. “We’ve been bamboozled.”

Beside her, Peeta huffed in frustration. “I’m not sure how to be the gentleman here,” he frowned. “If I take the smaller bed, I compromise your privacy. If I take the bigger bed, I’ve consigned you to the smaller room.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “We could get rooms in town?”

She turned to observe Peeta watching her warily. His light blue button-down was hanging over a pair of well-worn jeans, its sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. His leather overnight bag still hung from his shoulder. Was he expecting her to have a fit over their accommodations? Not likely. It was still better than her alternatives. At least he wasn’t suggesting they split up. She was a little afraid to be alone with her thoughts. They’d pull her under and she’d never find her way out. Dropping her bag on the butler’s bench poised at the foot of the bed, Katniss shook her head. “We’re here now. We’ll just have to make the best of it. We can flip a coin for the bed later.” She lowered herself to the bench. “How was your week?”

The corner of his mouth twitched and he closed the space between them, dropping his bag on the hardwood floor as he perched on the edge of the bed. “Not bad. Ms. Trinket finally bought that piece she’s been eying.”

“That was the modern one with all the bright colours, right?”

Peeta nodded. Effie Trinket, a retired Broadway actress who Katniss figured had more money than brains, was one of Peeta’s customers. “That’s the one. Then I sold her a sculpture of a man made out of recycled cans. His legs once held creamed corn, I swear.”

Katniss couldn’t help it, she laughed. “She lurves you, Peeta. She’d take anything you’re selling. You’ll be husband number 6, I just know it. “

Peeta shuddered. “I’m pretty sure she made more money collecting on divorce settlements than she ever made on the stage. Her latest husband, Mitch, I think his name is, answered the door when I made the delivery this week. He was as drunk as a skunk.”

Katniss’s eyes rounded. “You’re doing the deliveries now?”

“Only if the client pays for a professional installation. Which Effie always does.”

She shook her head in resignation. “Effie, huh? Well, you’ll have to be sure to give me her address before you leave. If you don’t show up here next Saturday, I’ll send the police to check her basement. She’ll have you tied to a post, trying to make you her love slave.”

Peeta gagged and threw himself back against the bed, clapping his hand over his face “You’re going to give me nightmares.”

Katniss was still laughing when he raised his hand and turned his head to look at her; his face so close to hers that she could count each one of his long, golden eyelashes.

“Don’t worry, Katniss. I’ll be here next week. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,“ he whispered, brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Katniss wondered if they’d ever been this close before. She’d never noticed the flecks of grey in the blue pools of his eyes or the tiny freckles that sprayed across his nose. His lips were smooth and softly parted.

A swift rap on the door interrupted her train of thought. “I opened you guys a bottle of merlot in the drawing room,” Madge called out from the other side before carrying on down the hall.

Peeta’s hands slapped against his knees as he sat up. “A drink before dinner sounds great.” He stood, and offered his hand to Katniss. “Shall we?”

She took it and Peeta’s long fingers wrapped securely around hers as she followed him to the door. She missed their steadiness when he let go to allow her passage over the threshold ahead of him, but then they ghosted along the small of her back as he guided her through. The warmth of his touch lingered all the way down the stairs and into the drawing room.

After Peeta poured them each a glass of wine, they settled into their usual spots on the couch in front of the fireplace and Peeta began a story about his client, Mr. Craine, his strange beard and his taste for phallic imagery in modern art.

“Honestly, Katniss, I showed him a cubist portrait the other day. I told him the subject’s nose, which was located where the ear should be, appeared to have been subtly but deliberately widened at the base, and he bought it on the spot.”

Katniss looked pensive. “I wonder if you could sell him a still life bowl of fruit.”

“If it’s got bananas in it, consider it sold.”

They were still snickering when they heard the entrance door burst open and the house was filled with chatter.

“Lovely, just lovely,” boomed a pompous voice. “It’s so perfectly quaint and cozy. What do you want to bet her grandmother’s needlepoint hangs over the fireplace?”

A high-pitched female voice tittered and Katniss peered up at the mantle. She thought the intricate needlepoint was probably done by Madge’s great grandmother, but wasn’t sure what was so hilarious about valuing where you came from.

Another female voice, this one lower and more soothing murmured to the group.

“I don’t know, Cressida. Is there a bell on that old dresser, there?” the male voice replied. “Ring it, why don’t you?”

“No need, no need.” They could hear Madge bustle in and begin tending to their varying needs. Yes, the heat had been turned down in Mr. Heavensbee’s room. There were no feathers on Ms. Cardew’s bed. Yes, the rooms were large enough to store the equipment. Yes, Madge could provide a vegetarian meal for dinner. No, vegan was not an option. Yes, the list of Cressida’s food allergies had arrived by email. Yes, she had free wifi. Yes, there were private bathrooms in each guest suite. No her towels were cotton, not bamboo.

Peeta rolled his eyes and Katniss laughed again.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay downtown?”

She imagined herself dissolving into tears in a sterile hotel room. “I’m positive.” Peeta smiled at her and raised his glass to sip his wine. “There’s no way we could drink wine and talk about penis paintings in a hotel lobby.”

Peeta was still choking when the rotund body that belonged to the booming voice in the entryway appeared in the doorway to the room.

“Brilliant! Other guests.” His beefy hands collided in a swift clap and then he rubbed them together. “Plutarch Heavensbee. I’m the producer of Byways and Getaways for Capitol TV. We’re doing a segment on the town and the inn. But, don’t you worry. Your visit will not be disturbed.”

Peeta, now recovered, offered him an easy smile and stood, offering his hand. “Peeta Mellark, “ he said and gestured to Katniss. “My friend, Katniss Everdeen.”

“A pleasure to meet you, “ Plutarch enthused. Katniss wished she could say the same. He had invaded her favourite space and now he was interrupting her Peeta time. “What brings you to the inn?”

“Just up for the weekend, “ he replied, and Katniss thought it odd that he didn’t mention he had business in the area.

“Exactly the demographic we are trying to reach with our show. I knew we were right about this place. Where do you hail from?”

“I’m the curator of PMG in the city. Katniss lives there too. She’s an environmental engineer.“

Katniss reached out her hand to shake Plutarch’s and it felt like she’d wrapped her fingers around a dead fish. Her father used to say that a man’s handshake told you all you needed to know about him. “It’s a pleasure, Katniss. Well, what do you think? Isn’t this the perfect spot for a romantic getaway?”

“I suppose,” Katniss conceded, though she found it hard to imagine staying here without tragedy looming over her head. “I’m from Panem, actually, so I’m just here to see my family.”

“No reason why the two of you can’t mix family obligations with a little romance, especially in a setting like this one,” said Plutarch with a laugh before turning to Peeta.

As Plutarch and Peeta continued with their social niceties – it turned out Plutarch had heard of Peeta’s gallery and knew Effie – Katniss pondered why her path had never crossed Peeta’s until they had met here. They both lived in the same city. They were about the same age. But it was a huge city, and she wasn’t much for the nightlife, so maybe it wasn’t such a surprise after all. But even now that they’d met, they didn’t see each other between visits to the Inn.l They exchanged the odd text, but they never met for lunch or grabbed a quick drink after work. She’d never questioned it before, but now she wondered why that was, and whether that would change if she were no longer coming to the Inn each weekend. What if it didn’t? Would another female guest take her place? The idea clawed at her.

“Dinner is served,” called Madge from the doorway.

As they passed under the chandelier in the foyer to the dining room across the hall, Peeta tucked Katniss’s hand under his arm. She was surprised to discover his bicep was rock hard beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. She chanced a glance up at him and found his eyes full of concern.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not.”

The thumb of his free hand stroked over her knuckles. “I wasn’t sure. You seemed so distant in the other room.”

“It’s not you, Peeta. I’ve just… Got a lot on my mind.” He nodded in understanding, but did not release her hand. That was fine with Katniss. His gentle strength was exactly what she needed.

In the dining room, the lights had been dimmed and the large table where they usually supped with Madge was already filled with the television crew. Katniss spotted Plutarch settling in beside a dark-haired woman whose face powder gave the apples of her cheeks a silver glow. Across the table from him was a man with a red-tinged beard and another willowy woman whose hair was shaved on one side of her head.

Madge pointed them to a table for two she’d set up near the windows. “I thought you two might enjoy some privacy.” Peeta gave her a grateful smile and he led the way to the more intimate setting, where the flickering of the candle was reflected in the glasses between their places and glimmered in the polished silver that lay on the tablecloth. When Katniss reached her chair, Peeta quickly pulled it out for her and slid her into place. Madge arrived tableside and poured another rich red, wine into fresh glasses.

“This meal has to be perfect,” she whispered to them, her back to the camera crew.

“It will be, Madge,” Katniss soothed. “All your meals are perfect. They’ll love it.”

“Let’s hope so,” her friend sighed, and outlined the evening’s dining choices: a braised lamb shank in a red wine sauce and served with rosemary garlic mashed potatoes or eggplant parmesan with arugula salad.

Peeta grinned at Katniss. “I know what you’re going to choose.”

“The lamb,” they said in unison.

“For you as well, Peeta?” Madge asked. He nodded and their hostess pasted a smile on her lips. “Okay then, wish me luck.” She turned back to the crowd at the table to take their orders.

“I guess you know what a carnivore I am by now,” Katniss teased after Madge left.

“You told me a few months ago that lamb is your favourite.”

“I did?”

“Sure, one night Madge served a gorgeous Beef Wellington and you said that you enjoyed it but that lamb was your favourite.”

Katniss remembered that night – the flakey crust wrapped over the succulent steak, the rich aroma of the wine. Madge had dimmed the chandelier over the dining room table and they’d talked for hours. Peeta had told them all about the hours he’d spent on a beach in the south of Spain, painting the sunset over the Mediterranean Sea, frantically mixing his paints to achieve exactly the right shade of orange. His eyes were as blue as the water that night and Katniss has never looked a a sunset the same way since.

“I can’t believe you retained a little detail like that,” she said.

Madge arrived with their meals and the savoury aroma curled tantalizingly toward her.

Peeta tugged his napkin from under his cutlery and laid it in his lap. “I remember everything about you, Katniss.” He cleared his throat and looked back up at her. “So, how were things today?”

She fiddled with the stem of her wine goblet before lifting it to take a healthy swallow. “Rough, as usual.” Rougher than usual, really, but she’d promised herself she wouldn’t think about that yet. “Dad just lies there, fading to nothing. Prim takes Mom with her every day when she goes to work at the hospital. She drops Mom off in his room, works a 12-hour shift, then picks her up in his room when it’s time to go home. Mom doesn’t leave his side, except to go to the bathroom.”

“She’s certainly devoted.”

“She is, but it’s more than that, Peeta. It’s like she can’t function without him. Dad’s car accident was four months ago, and she’s barely said a word since it happened. When she’s not at the hospital, she’s sleeping.”

Katniss adored her father and she’d missed him every day since he’d lost control of his truck on that icy road last winter. But it was her mother’s desertion that hurt the most. Her father might have been alone in his vehicle, but she and her sister had lost both of their parents that night.

And since Katniss lived and worked in Capitol City, poor Prim was bearing the day-to-day stress of caring for both of their parents. It was Prim who’d called Katniss to say the doctors had decided their mother lacked the competency to make decisions about their father’s care. Prim had closed up their parent’s house and moved Mom into her place. Prim made sure Mom got out of bed, ate, washed herself and went back to bed. Prim dealt with the myriad of decisions that had to be made for both of their parents every day. All Katniss had to do was show up on Saturday morning, take their mother to the hospital and spend the day watching their father waste away while a respirator and a feeding tube kept his body alive and her mother desperately clung to the hope he’d wake up. When the sun began to set, she kissed her father’s cheek, took Mom back to Prim’s house and put her to bed.   

Every second of every minute that she sat in that ass-numbing visitor’s chair beside her father’s bed, Katniss wished she could be somewhere - anywhere - else; to run to her car, drive back to the city and never return. Only the bone-crushing guilt that her baby sister was dealing with this fiasco on her own had her packing her car every Saturday morning for the 60-mile drive north to Panem.

Well, that, and the man sitting on the other side of the table, whose smile lit up every room in her heart. He smiled at her sympathetically.

“I’d like to say I understand what you’re going through, Katniss, but my father’s death was so sudden, it can’t compare. Just know that I haven’t forgotten what that felt like. I understand what it means to lose someone so important to you.” His hand covered hers, and then his thumb stroked over her knuckles. “I’m here for you, Katniss, whatever you need. I hope you know that.”

His kindness made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. What did she ever do to deserve a friend like him? “Thank you, I-”

“Look at that!” Plutarch’s voice boomed from the other table. “Pollux go get your camera. Do you see it Cressida? They’re perfect!”

Katniss turned her head towards the other table where Plutarch was grinning like someone who’d found the prize at the bottom of the cereal box. The woman across from him was considering them carefully, the long, platinum locks on the unshaved part of her head falling over her left shoulder. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, you’re right. They’re perfect. And the setting is just right.”

“Well, you two. How about it?” Plutarch rose from the table and loomed over them. “Want to be on our show?”

Peeta was the first to recover. “We’re not-, I mean…”

“Professional actors. I know,” Plutarch said. “That’s what makes you so right for this. Your chemistry is palpable. It was slapping me in the face, even all the way over there.”

It was? Her attempts to process that revelation were interrupted by the thumps and rattles of the cameraman, Pollux, who came back into the room, a television camera hoisted on his shoulder.

She was already working up an impressive no speech when Cressida spoke up. “You don’t have to of course,” she demurred from the other table, “But don’t you want to help your friend? Footage of an actual couple enjoying the inn is so much more effective than shots of charming but empty rooms.”

One look at Madge’s pleading face and Katniss’s protests crumbled. Three minutes on camera wasn’t going to kill her. When she peeked over at Peeta, he was wavering too. But she knew he wouldn’t agree, not without her.

“Alright, fine,” she acquiesced. Peeta gave a swift nod and Plutarch threw his hands up in joy. He might as well have won the lottery. Before long, Cressida – who apparently was the show’s director – had Pollux in position for a long shot.

“I want you to start wide,” she instructed Pollux, “And bring it in slowly on the two of them while they continue their dinner. Pollux nodded and got into position. She turned to Peeta, “And I want you to go back to looking at her as though she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. And you,” she laid a hand on Katniss’s shoulder that Katniss had to force herself not to shrug off, “You just keep looking up at him like he hung the moon.”

It was impossibly awkward, trying to eat while the camera was rolling. She was conscious of every chew of the lamb, every bite of her potatoes. They tasted like ash in her mouth because she couldn’t relax. Meanwhile Cressida’s words kept rolling through her head. Since when did Peeta look at her like she was beautiful? How ridiculous. Just the implication that he had feelings for her had even turned the tips of his ears pink. But now, that the camera was rolling he was putting on a masterful performance, smiling sweetly at her in the candlelight.

Three minutes turned out to be twenty. Each time Pollux finished the shot, Cressida reviewed it, picked it apart and had him shoot it again. Once Cressida was happy with the long shot, she had Pollux pan from one of them to the other. Then Peeta gazing at her. Then her doing her best not to scowl at him. She also had him shoot their joined hands before pulling out to their dinner.

She heaved a sigh of relief when Pollux finally turned off the camera, but by then her meal was cold. Madge collected their plates with a smile, and whispered that she was so grateful for their help that she was comping their room for the night.

At least they didn’t bother her while she was enjoying her tiramisu. Plutarch’s plan that Peeta feed her a bite from his fork, was thwarted by Madge who suggested they all have a break and some dessert.

Katniss had never been so relieved to be finished with a meal. She was already making her escape to the staircase when Plutarch started wheedling for just a “few more shots” in the drawing room. Before long, she found herself nestled hip-to-hip with Peeta in front of a roaring fire, Katniss tucked beneath his arm and their long-stemmed wine glasses clutched in their fingertips while the camera rolled.

“Cut!” At Cressida’s call, Pollux put the camera down and rolled his shoulders. Cressida was oblivious to his discomfort. “Alright, Katniss,” she coached. “This time when Pollux starts recording, I want you both to be staring into the fire. Then on the count of five I want you to lay your head on Peeta’s chest. Got it?”

She bit her lip. It was one thing to hold hands over dinner or sit in front of the fire. This next shot felt terribly romantic and it seemed wrong to continue to pretend like this. Peeta picked up on her uncertainty and was arguing that they were tired when she realized she might never again have a chance at a moment like this with Peeta. Even if Prim changed her mind about tomorrow and she came back the following weekend, she had no idea whether Peeta felt anything for her but friendship. Suddenly, she found her tongue.

“It’s fine, Peeta. Don’t worry about me.” His blue eyes were full of concern when they peered down at her.

“You sure?”

She nodded, wondering if it were possible to drown in someone’s gaze. “Yeah.” The corner of his mouth quirked in a slight smile and she imagined pressing her lips to the spot.

Plutarch made a pleased noise. “Oh that’s perfect. That’s exactly what we want, Isn’t it Cressida?”

“We’ll do it all in one take,” the director agreed. “Fulvia, take Peeta’s glass, please.”

“I’m the host, not a gofer,” the other woman huffed as she snatched Peeta’s glass away.

“You’re not a coat rack either, yet you insist on standing there and doing nothing,” Cressida snapped.

Katniss decided she rather liked Cressida, who turned back to her, her irritation buried under her professional veneer. “As I said, you two, we’ll do one last take and then we’ll set you free. Katniss, I want you to do exactly as I said. Gaze at the fire, count to five, lay your head on his chest. Then Peeta, with your free hand, reach up to stroke her cheek. And if you two stare at each other with the same intensity that you just had, the Mockingjay Inn will be full for the next 10 years.”

“Can we please just do this?” Peeta sounded pained.

“Rolling,” Cressida called. The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire. Katniss watched it dance in the hearth before relaxing against Peeta and laying her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. She could hear his heart racing beneath her ear. She closed her eyes, fixing the moment in her mind forever. The spice of his cologne, the natural musk of his skin. The firmness of his chest and the warmth of his body. Even if it wasn’t real, she wanted to be able to recall this memory whenever her thoughts strayed to him. When his fingers grazed her cheek, Katniss opened her eyes and found his to be staring back at her, filled with fondness and, dare she say, longing?

“Cut!” Cressida said and Peeta leapt to his feet, reaching out to tug Katniss off the floor.

“Well, it’s been fun, folks, but Katniss and I are calling it a night,” he said, never letting go of her hand. Cheerfully waving good night, but allowing no further discussion, he ushered her from the room. His jaw was tense, she noted, and a current was passing between them that was almost palpable in the air. When he glanced toward her, she could see something brewing in his expression that she’d never noticed before.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Peeta opened the door to their room and allowed her to pass through before him. It snicked closed and they were left in the cozy space where it seemed Madge had snuck in to light the fireplace and turn down their beds. Lamps glowed on the end tables on each side the big four-poster.

“Katniss,” Peeta said, in a voice just barely above a whisper. Her eyes flew to where he stood by the door, watching her. She was reminded briefly of a stormy sea and then she found herself surrounded by him, wrapped snugly in his arms as his lips came crashing down upon hers. At once, they gave and demanded. Took and soothed. He bit her lip, begged forgiveness with a swipe of his tongue and then parted her bruised lips to slip inside. Here, her body sang as her tongue slid against his. Here is what you’ve been looking for. What you’ve been missing. The one you need.

When they were both gasping for air, he pulled back, framing her face with his hands, feathering kisses across her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her forehead before finally lowering his brow to hers. She locked her hands around his wrists.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve been waiting so long to tell you how I feel. You’ve been dealing with so much. You don’t need demands from me too, but the way you were looking at me down there, Katniss…. I just- I couldn’t hold back anymore. You mean so much to me and if you don’t want this, I’ll try to under-”

She had to shut him up. Had to. So she rose up on her toes and kissed him with all that she’d been holding inside for him; weaving her fingers into his hair as she’d ached to do, revelling in the sharp scrape of his stubble, committing the taste of his lips to her memory. How could they both have been feeling this way and not known the attraction was mutual?

“It’s not just you,” she assured him when they broke apart again. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m not very good with words, especially when it’s important.”

A groan sounded low in his throat and his hands clutched at her hips, pulling her close. Heat flashed between them and she stroked the iron of his biceps and wrapped her arms around his middle before clutching the back of his shirt in her fists. Her own shirt rose slightly and his thumb stroked the bare skin that appeared just above the waistline of her jeans. Goosebumps prickled on her flesh and the sharp edge of need sliced through her again. A soft mewl escaped her lips and his hands slipped from her hips to stroke the soft curve of her bottom. His lips roamed her jaw then moved to suckle the sensitive spot on her neck just below her ear.

It felt indescribably good, like she’d found a part of herself that she hadn’t known was missing. She craved him, each touch drawing her ever deeper under his spell. Her panties were soaked and her mind was whirling. She wanted him over her, inside her, wrapped in the knot of her legs while he took her flying.

Was it wrong to give into this now? When they’d only just confessed their feelings? When she knew tomorrow she’d be kissing her father good-bye?

Peeta lifted his head to stare down at her. His lips were swollen from her kisses; his blonde locks tousled. His eyes burned with desire, but his gentleness and innate decency remained. Her hands slid into his hair, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck.

He leaned down to nuzzle her nose. “Everything alright?”

“Prim told the doctors they could unplug our dad tomorrow.”

With a curse, Peeta released her and then led her over to the bed. They toed off their shoes and curled up under the covers where he drew her into his arms. She lay there quietly, her body still thrumming with need, but her mind at peace.

”Katniss, I’m so sorry. I know you were hoping he’d get better.”

“I was for awhile,” she admitted on a shaky breath, “But now, I just want him to be able to hold on to his dignity. He would hate this, Peeta. More than anything. Sometimes I think he won’t wake up because he’d never want to face this.”

He pressed a kiss to her brow. “I’m sorry. I should never have started all that before. If I’d known what you were going through-”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Stop. Please don’t be sorry for that. I can’t handle it if you say sorry for wanting me.”

He snorted and she wondered if he’d picked up that habit from her. “Can’t be sorry for that,” he answered. “Not when it came to me as naturally as breathing.”

She gave her head a brief shake and raised up on her elbow. “What?”

“You have no idea, the effect you have on me.” At her dismissive noise, he flipped her over, settling his body on hers and pinning her wrists above her head. “It’s true,” he insisted. “I walked into the drawing room that first night we met. You were curled up on the couch, staring into the fire, your braid falling over your shoulder. You turned to look at me and my mind just blanked. And then I knew.”

She felt like she should scoff and push him away, but another part – the part that remembered their first meeting like a favourite movie – hungered to hear the rest. “Knew what?” she croaked.

“That you were perfect for me. I just needed time to convince you that I was perfect for you too.”

No convincing had been necessary. Not really. Not when she spent Monday to Friday thinking about when she would see him again. “I guess you’re lucky that work kept bringing you up here, then.”

He chuckled, pushing her hands higher over her head, his face so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheeks. “Is that what you think? That I’ve been coming up here week after week, for work? Do you really think there are that many art connoisseurs in this little town?”

“Well, why else would you-”

Peeta rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Katniss.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Why do you think?”

Oh. “But you never called, hardly ever texted me during the week. How was I to know if you never gave me a sign?”

He blushed a little. “There were plenty of signs. I guess I was waiting for one from you.”

She spread her legs until he was nestled between her thighs. Locking her feet under his knees, she brought her lips to his. “How’s that for a sign?”

“I’ll take it,” he rasped, locking his fingers with hers. She took his bottom lip between her own and clung, nipping lightly. He let go of her hands to frame her face with his own and buried his fingers in her raven tresses. Free to wander, hers fell to his shoulders, admiring their breadth before slipping between the two of them to loosen the buttons of his shirt. Dissatisfied with the amount of skin she could reach, Katniss tugged impatiently at the hem of his shirt.

“Off,” she muttered as she laved her way up his neck to take his earlobe in her teeth. “Now,” she whispered in his ear.

“Bossy,” he complained from inside the shirt as he rose on his haunches to pull it over his head, too eager to be free of it to finish with the buttons. He tossed it aside and at last she could glory in his sculpted chest, his pectoral muscles dusted with blonde hair that narrowed into a trail that disappeared below the waistband of his jeans. She scratched her nails along his chest until they reached the button of his jeans. When she flipped it open, and reached for his fly, Peeta’s hand covered hers.

“You first,” he insisted. “I need to see you.” he swallowed. “Take your shirt off, Katniss.”

The heat of her blush raced up her neck until even her ears burned. “I’m nothing special,” she protested. “Let me touch you.”

He shook his head. “I’ve been having this dream about you. Please.” She huffed. Her fingers wrapped around the hem off her sweater so that she could whip it off, when he stilled her hand again.

“Slowly.”

Obediently, she slowed her hand. Her grey eyes locked on his face, watching his expression as she exposed the flat of her belly, the olive skin coming into view inch by inch. His eyes were dark, like bottomless pools. His tongue flicked out across his bottom lip, still swollen from her attentions. The sweater climbed over her rib cage and up her breasts before finally slipping over her head and falling into a heap on the floor.  

She lay before him, her slight breasts still encased in the white cotton bra she’d donned that morning. His eyes closed and he exhaled softly, then opened them and smiled. “You are so beautiful.”

Her heart flipped over in her chest and she knew it was lost to him, that her feelings shone from every pore. He flicked open her jeans, lowered the zipper and lowered his lips to the soft flesh just above the hem of her panties. His mouth slid higher and her core burned as he laved a trail along her belly button, dipping in briefly before travelling up her sternum to the valley between her breasts. His lips caressed one soft mound and then the other. Her fingers wove themselves back into his hair, clutching him to her, and he moaned softly when she gave it a little tug to bring his mouth back to hers. He tasted of wine and she drank him in, revelling in the pleasure of his skin against hers. Her hips rose from the bed, sending a spike of heat through her as her most sensitive place ground against his erection. She moaned and arched her back as she moved against him again.

Peeta’s hand slipped beneath her to remove her bra, unclasping it, and then sliding it from her shoulders to toss it to the floor.  He closed his hand over one before drawing the soft brown tip of the other into his mouth, the tension continuing to build ever higher between her legs. His name fell from her lips and he raised his head to give her a naughty grin and then lowered his mouth to her opposite breast. With his other hand, he rolled the nipple he’d already teased into a taut peak between his fingers.

Her hands ran down his back and slipped beneath his shorts, admiring the shape of his ass before driving him even harder against the apex of her thighs.

They grunted in unison, and Peeta raised his head, his eyes dancing as they laughed. He pecked her lips and then slid off of her. They lay side by side, their arms draped loosely over each other’s sides. The next smile he offered her was sheepish.

“I didn’t exactly come prepared for this,” he admitted, “If you want to take this farther, that is.”

Katniss bit her lip as she considered the contents of her bag. “Me either.” She considered a moment. “We’ll just have to be creative,” she decided and sat up, smiling to herself when she noticed his eyes following her breasts.

She climbed from the bed and shimmied out of her jeans. “C’mon Mellark, match me?”

By the time she climbed back up on the bed, Peeta’s jeans were hitting the floor, his boxer briefs not far behind them. Still on all fours, her eyes roamed his body, the broad chest, the tight abs, the happy trail pointing the way to a long, hard cock. She licked her lips, thinking about what she had in mind and it twitched slightly. Amused, her eyes flew back to Peeta’s face. He shrugged. “It’s just saying hello. Come closer, please. I want to touch you.”

She crawled to him, enjoying the way his eyes followed the sway of her hips, then rose up on her knees before him. His hand slid up her inner thigh, trailing up until he brushed against her lower lips before sliding down again to her knee. He rose up on his elbow, placing a kiss against her hip.

“So lovely,” he murmured against her skin. “I’m going to paint you, someday, if you let me.” His lips travelled just above the dark triangle between her legs while his fingers crept up her thigh again. “Your hair unbound, falling down your back in the sunshine. Your skin practically glows, Katniss. I can make all kinds of colours in my paint box, but I could spend all day trying to get your skin just right.” This time, his fingers caressed her slit slowly, drawing her breath from her in sharp pants, before delving deeper in search of the swollen bud seeking his attention. Her head fell back and a high pitched moan fell from her lips when he began to stroke it.

“Peeta,” she gasped, riding his hand.

“Fuck, Katniss. You’re so wet.”

Her hands slid slowly up her body, cupping her breasts and then rolling her nipples between her fingers. The pleasure shot straight to her clit and she groaned again.

“Can I taste you,” he asked, and she nodded.

“But I want to touch you too. Lie back.” She turned in the bed, straddling Peeta’s body so that his cock was perfectly positioned for her mouth. She heard him curse again, then felt him lower her into position over his face. He licked her slowly, sending another jolt of pleasure through her body. Pleasure she needed to share.

Her tongue stroked down his cock, from the tip all the way to the root near his balls. The strangled groan that fell from his lips vibrated through her. She palmed his balls in one hand and then slowly began to stroke him with the other.

Peeta’s ministrations grew more passionate. He sucked her clit into his mouth, working it furiously with his tongue.

Katniss licked her lips, then took him in, sliding her tongue around the head and then deep into her mouth. Another groan sounded from behind her and she took him deeper, moving her hand in concert with her mouth. His hips rose and fell, even as he pulled her ever deeper against his face, his sounds of pleasure causing hers to spiral ever higher.

She drew back, licking the head of his penis before plunging down upon him again. His mouth worked her furiously, whimpers of pleasure bursting from her, when suddenly she felt her orgasm overtake her. She bucked against his face as he held her in place, drinking her up. She sucked him desperately, opening her throat and with one last groan, he erupted, and she swallowed each drop as it slid down.

They lay silently for a few minutes, while their hearts raced, Peeta kissing her thigh periodically. When she could avoid it no longer, she climbed off him. When she turned around, she could tell he was as stunned as she.

“I guess I should go to bed,” he said softly.

She lay her hand on his chest. “No, stay with me.”

He smiled at her and held out his arms. She thought he whispered something into her hair as she snuggled down beside him.

Peeta sat up to pull the covers back over them. They each flicked off a light and before long she was once again wrapped up in his arms. They lay quietly in the dark as she listened to the comforting thud of his heartbeat just below her ear. She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard his voice again.

“I’d like to go with you tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

She desperately wanted to say yes, which made her think she should probably refuse. “It will be awful, Peeta. I don’t want to put you through that.”

“Tomorrow, your mother will be there for your father, and your sister will be there for both of them. You’ll be taking care of Prim. Someone should be there to comfort you, Katniss. And that should be your boyfriend.”

Her lips twitched upwards in the dark. “Is that what you are? My boyfriend?”

“If you’ll allow it.”

There was a brief silence before she answered. “I’ll allow it.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I’ll allow that too.”

[whoinwhoville]

Rating: General Audience Relationships: Tenth Doctor (duplicate)/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor (duplicate), Rose Tyler, Tony Tyler Additional Tags: Crack, Humor, What is this even?, Transformers - Freeform, Optimus Prime - Freeform, evil emporor zorgon, Princess Leia - Freeform, Bumblebee - Freeform, mr. potatohead, Fluff Series: Part 4 of Whoville's Follower Milestone Celebration Summary:

The Doctor and Rose babysit Tony Tyler and play with Transformers. Crack.

Written for @ofstormsandwolves, winner of the Tentoo x Rose ficlet from my Follower Milestone Celebration. Prompt was, “Tentoo and Rose babysit Tony.”

“Doctor!” Red-headed Tony Tyler jumped into the Doctor’s arms.

The Doctor swooped Tony up and onto his shoulders. “What do you want to do today?”

“Play with toys! I brought Bumblebee, Mr. Potatohead, and a Bad Guy. We can play Transformers!”

“Sounds brilliant.”

“Your dad and me, we haven’t had a date in ages," Jackie told Rose. "Going to see a film -- and one that's not animated, thank heavens, and then down to the pub for a pint and a quiz. Shouldn’t be out too late.”

“Have fun, Mum. Don’t worry about the time. Tony can spend the night even.”

Jackie handed her daughter Tony’s Transformers-themed rucksack. “He brought his whole room with him, I think. And there’s a surprise in there from his Dad. Spoils him rotten, that man.”

“And you love it.” Rose hugged her mother. “Have fun!”

oOo

“It’s Ultimate Prime! It’s Ultimate Prime!” Tony exclaimed, tearing open the package to get to his new toy.

“It’s from Dad. Make sure you thank him, Tony,” Rose said.

“I will." He grinned. "Doctor, let’s play Transformers!”

“Oh! Transformers are brilliant! Who do I get to be?”

Tony ran to get his bag of toys, and pulled out a Mr. Potato Head. “Give him a scary face. He’s an alien potato.”

“Oh! I’ll make him a Sontaran!” the Doctor squealed as he opened the flap in back and dumped out the silly pieces.

Rose laughed in the background. “Lunch will be ready in about ten minutes, boys. Cheesy noodles.”

“Oh, brilliant!” the two ‘boys’ drawled in unison.

“I am Staal!” the Doctor said in a deep voice. “Sontar ha!”

“Sontor ha!” copied Tony.

“Did I ever tell you about the time that a Sontaran named Skunk—“

“Skunk!” Tony giggled. “Was he stinky?”

“Was he stinky? He stunk worse than a Blorgallian Bog Dog, and that is very stinky. Rose got licked by one once, and she stunk for days. Bog Dogs are very affectionate.”

“Oi! I heard that! You pushed me into that bog, if I recall,” she called from the kitchen.

“To save you from that herd of Areyouesses that was coming for you!”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Tony covered his mouth and laughed. “Was that Leather You or This Hair you?”

“Leather.”

Tony leaned in close. “Rose took me to Henrik’s last week. She was looking at leather coats. She kept sniffing 'em. Isn't that strange?” Tony whispered into the Doctor’s ear.

"Not strange at all," the Doctor grinned.

“Well I think it's weird. Did you know your birthday is coming up? You’re gonna be one!” Tony giggled. “I’m older than you are! I’m older than you are!” he sang.

The Doctor winked at him. “That’s my spy — you just keep your eyes open.”

Tony picked up his new toy. “I’m Ultimate Prime, and I’m going to save the universe from the evil emperor Zorgon!”

“Zygon?” asked the Doctor.

“No, Doctor." He rolled his eyes just like his big sister. "Zygons look like a boy thing.”

Rose snorted a laugh, and the Doctor choked.

“A Zygon tried to infiltrate 10 Downing about two years ago,” Rose called from the kitchen, still laughing. “I didn’t know that Tony was peeking over my shoulder. The little spy."

The Doctor elbowed and winked at Tony.

"He saw a picture of the thing on my laptop. He laughed about it for days.”

Tony picked up a figurine with a long pointy beard and arched eyebrows. “I’m the evil emperor Zorgon! I’m here to destroy your planet!”

“What is Skunk the Sontaran supposed to do? Jump on him? Clone him?” asked the Doctor.

“Nothing. He watches. Ultimate Prime is the hero.”

The Doctor frowned.

Playtime continued for a few more minutes until Rose called them for lunch. The toys were abandoned on the floor.

oOo

“I’m an Ood,” Tony said, mouth full, spaghetti noodles hanging down his chin.

“Put those back in your mouth, little man,” Rose admonished. “What would Mum say?”

“Mum would put me in time out, but Dad would laugh and do it too. And then Mum would say, you keep doing that and you’re cut off. What does cut off mean, Rose? Mum would never cut off Dad’s arm or something, would she?”

Rose shook her head forcefully. “No! It’s like grownup time out.”

“Do you ever get grownup time out, Doctor? You’re always doing messy stuff like Ood noodles.”

The Doctor tugged on his ear, and Rose raised an eyebrow and smirked. His head snapped towards the lounge.

“What’s wrong, Doctor?” Rose asked. “I know that look.”

“Did you hear something, Rose? Tony? I heard something. Like a high-pitched zinging sound. I haven’t heard the sound… in years. Very distinctive.”

Rose and shook her head, and Tony continued to slurp noodles.

“I didn’t hear anything, Doctor,” said Rose.

“I know I heard something.”

“Maybe it was Ultimate Prime. The package says he talks and makes sounds,” Rose suggested.

“You’re probably right.”

“Hurry up and eat already, I want to play!” Tony nagged, his plate now empty.

"Tony, you go wash the cheese off of your hands and face, and then we'll play."

Tony scurried off.

“Rose, I’m serious. That robot toy? Alien tech.”

“Come on, Doctor,” she drawled. “It’s just a toy. It whirrs and walks and talks. I put the batteries in myself, and there’s a gift receipt. Mum got it at We B’ Toys.”

“Not a toy.” The Doctor crossed his arms. "Transformers do not emit a level two sub-sonic universal greeting."

"Is it dangerous?" she asked.

"No, no, no!" he grinned. "Very friendly. The friendliest of greetings! Usually precedes the offering of gifts or blessings."

“All right, then. You try and take it from Tony.” Rose crossed her arms right back at him.

oOo

“Chhhhssshhhhhh!” Tony flew the robot toy above his head. He came to a screeching halt and held Bad Guy Zorgon face to face with Ultimate Prime.

“I’m Emperor Zorgon! And you will obey me!” he hissed. “Evil Ultimate Prime, I command you to fire!” Tony held the red robot high above his head.

“Tony, we have a surprise for you. Rose is going to take you to get a treat.”

“A treat, Doctor?” Rose asked.

“Yep. Ice cream.” The Doctor leveled a look that meant business.

Rose nodded, and then swept her five year old brother into his arms. “Go on, give your toys to the Doctor. Can’t have the evil robot and the emporor Zorgon threatening innocent people at the ice creamery.”

“Awwww, do I have to?” Tony whinged.

“Yep.”

Tony handed the toys to the Doctor, a thick lower lip pooching out.

oOo

Tony held the maraschino cherry above his mouth and then grabbed it with his teeth before sticking his finger into the generous dollop of whipped cream on the top of his chocolate-caramel swirl banana split.

“…so Evil Emperor Zorgon shot Ultimate Prime with his sigma ray gun, and BAM! Ultimate Prime turned evil! He can’t even transform into a train engine anymore! Now he transforms into a big roller thing like the ones that make roads! With spikes! And laser beams that shoot out of his eyes!”

“Well that is certainly terrifying, Tony. Do you think the Doctor could save him?”

“Of course he could! The Doctor can do anything.”

“Can I have a bite of your sundae?”

“No. Get your own,” he said, caramel dripping down his chin.

“Oi! You’ve been around the Doctor too much. Rude.”

“Rose, I want to be just like him when I grow up.”

“Of course you do.” Rose smiled at him fondly.

Tony dropped the spoon on the table. The chocolate ice cream quickly melted into a sticky puddle. He sighed, “I’m done. I can’t eat anymore. Can we go home? I want to play with my new toy.”

“Told ya not to get the large.” Rose rolled her eyes.

oOo

“Hey Tony! Go into the lounge. I put Transformers on the telly! It’s the new-new series, and you get to see it two years before your mates.”

“All right! Woo hoo!” Tony ran into the lounge area of the open loft, and jumped onto the enormous beanbag that was reserved just for him.

Transformers! Robots in the Skies! he sang along as he transformed Bumblebee into her VW Beetle form. He rolled the yellow car over the bumps and valleys of the beanbag as the action began to play out on the holographic screen.

“Psst, Rose,” the Doctor motioned his head towards his lab on the far side of the enormous, formerly industrial space.

Rose crossed her arms. “You’re not gonna tell me it’s alien are you?”

“Most definitely alien. Rose Tyler. I just finished fixing his universal translator. Looks like it was damaged by some sort of a laser weapon."

"You're having me on," she guffawed, but then she saw a flickering hologram projected onto the table, but glitched.

"Hold on." The Doctor pressed his sonic against the side of the robot's armour. "Let's try this again."

"Rose Tyler, you've served the universe as Defender of the Earth. Now I beg you to help us in our struggle against the evil Emperor Zorgon. I regret that I am unable to present my request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to Cybertron has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the Transformers into the memory systems of Ultimate Prime. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Rose Tyler. You're my only hope.

Rose stared for a moment, and then burst into hysterics.

"You heard him, he needs you, Rose, and this is his desperate hour."

"Right," she drawled. She picked up the toy, turned it over, and showed him the back. "*Press here to record your holographic message* Tony's been begging for this toy for a year. You think I didn't know it could do this? Mum's refused to buy it 'cos it cost a hundred and fifty quid. He must've worn Dad down."

"Tony, you can come out now," the Doctor called. "Rose figured it out."

"Aww," he complained. "But it was a good trick, wasn't it Rose?"

"It was a great one, Tony."

A conspiratorial grin grew on Tony's face. "Doctor, let's do another one. But this time, let's trick Mum!"