#throw him a tip and local shout out

[seeminglyseph]

When you tell people what graphics card you got running in your PC and they wince, and also how much you paid for it and you gotta explain it was during the NFT boom.

Crypto Bros owe me so much.

[crushedsweets]

I fear to stain your clothes with blood; Stain them, I don't care 'Eyeless' Jack Nyras in Creeped: PRESENT DAY

PT. 1: BACKSTORY General disclaimer: This AU is an amalgamation of headcanons, fanon, canon, and the occasional rewrite. There is an overarching story that HEAVILY strays from their canon stories.

PROXIES

➣This life became Jack’s reality for nearly a year. He would spend days completely unconscious, until he suddenly wakes up to a new crime scene. Every time, the taste of iron lingered in his mouth, even long after he washed his sins at a nearby river.

➣In rare moments of clarity, Jack tried to find himself. Sat anxiously at the river, scrubbing away at his rapidly changing body.

➣Black, hard keratin began to form on the tips of his fingers, of which the nails were torn off months ago. They resembled claws, only adding to Jack’s struggle. His ears seemed to stretch to a point and resemble bats, but he was still adjusting to the echolocation. While he got the gist of his general shape, he was almost grateful that he couldn’t see himself. 

➣The echolocation was pretty helpful, too. He had four pesky stalkers constantly on his ass. The most frequent two were pretty troublesome. One was quite small, but she was fast. By the time Jack realized she was in the area, she was already on him. Luckily, he was able to fling her off. It’d lead to a frustrating chase of her constantly attaching herself to him and him throwing her off, until something shifted in her and she retreated. For her, it was about persistence.

➣The other frequent stalker was odd. Jack would be miserably eating a raw deer, until he clicked his tongue and realized that one was hiding in a tree. His stalker had climbed through the branches. While Jack thought it was goofy, that stalker had terrifyingly accurate aim and power behind his throws. Jack was frequently assaulted with a hatchet to a limb or his back, and while the flesh would quickly knit itself back together, this stalker was more persistent than the other. 

➣For a damn year, this went on. Jack was barely a human. He became a local cryptid in the Tuscaloosa forest, and the proxies were beyond pissed about it. They didn't want more attention on this damn forest. He caused so much trouble, and he bruised Toby’s ego while doing it. 

➣Toby just got lucky one day. Jack had spent nearly a month fully conscious, the entity seeming to release his body entirely. He was in full control of himself once again, but it meant very little when he had no idea what to do with himself. 

➣He pathetically sat at his river, his keratin-coated fingers resting beneath the softly rushing water. He knew Toby, whose name he heard yelled amongst his stalkers, was watching him. Jack just chose not to do anything about it. He washed his hands and tried to relax in the water. When that familiar hatchet came barreling his way, he didn’t even hesitate. His hand reached up and he caught it by the handle. The second hatchet came and he caught it once again. His head didn’t even turn. 

➣He heard the same exasperated, angry shout from Toby. “What the hell is your problem, dude?!”

➣Jack’s ears perked up. He turned his head to face Toby, more as a formality. “My problem…?”

➣His voice was deep and horse. At this point, Toby’s voice was more familiar than his own. It startled both him and his stalker. So of course, Toby had to ask, “You can talk?”

➣Although hesitant, Toby made his way to Jack. The monster of a man never tried to hurt him or the others before, he mostly fought to defend himself. And Jack wasn’t concerned, he still held Toby’s hatchets. Jack offered a weak explanation of his situation, leaving major details out. He didn’t say Jenny’s name or bring up their relationship. Just mentioned a club, the torture, and his new body. 

➣Toby connected some dots for him. Explained the issue of Slenderman, the Operator, and Zalgo. They went back and forth, with Toby poking fun at Jack’s somber, stoic attitude. It seemed that Jack’s body purged itself of those entities, an unclear anomaly for the proxies.

➣Toby thought Jack was really cool. And figured he could be useful, too.

JACK’S ROLE

➣Jack was brought to the proxy cabin by Toby, much to the frustration of Tim and Brian. Jack was dirty, bloody, and uncomfortable as Toby bickered back and forth with the older men. It didn’t help that Brian was currently dealing with a nasty wound in his thigh, further amping up the frustration and fear between the group.

➣Toby insisted Jack was alright. He was big, he was strong, he had scary instincts. Tim repeatedly declared that he’s dangerous and useless to their job as proxies. He caught wind that Jack’s attention was geared towards Brian, who was propped up on the couch and bleeding onto it. A pathetic excuse for a tourniquet was wrapped around his thigh, and it got Tim riled up. ➣He shouted at Toby to get Jack out of the damn cabin, implying that some sort of monstrous instincts were bound to overtake Jack, especially with a bleeding man before him.

➣Jack finally spoke up. He defended himself quietly at first, saying he wasn’t staring because he was hungry. He was staring because of how poorly the tourniquet was done. The men were all a little taken aback by this, with Brian sarcastically asking if Jack could do better. 

➣Jack could, and tentatively, they let him. They let him explain his situation again, and with their understanding of his inhumanity and half-completed graduate degree, they realized how good of a problem this could be. They could take advantage of it, despite Tim's apprehension.

➣Jack was designated the ‘proxy medic.’ He was ushered to a small, one-bedroom cabin with a tiny bunker beneath it. He was given permission to live peacefully in the forest, away from public scrutiny, if he just took care of the proxy’s wounds.

➣It was a nice little place. Sure, it was dusty and bothered his heightened senses for a while, but Toby helped him tidy it up. The furniture was old and Toby had to drag an old mattress from a thrift store to replace the rotting one at Jack's cabin, but it worked out.

➣The bunker was a bit shameful for Jack. They managed to get large fridges hooked up down there, giving Jack the opportunity to keep himself fed over longer periods. It made the whole arrangement safer for everyone.

JACK'S RELATIONSHIPS

➣He eventually found himself settled comfortably in his cabin. Toby was the main visitor for a good period of time, until new faces began popping in and out. 

➣Kate ‘the Chaser’ was the second most frequent visitor, though she was commonly dragged behind Toby. She very rarely came on her own, unless her situation was dire.

➣Eventually, he began meeting people just as weird as himself. A girl who insists her name is Clockwork, tall and lanky and snappy. A pair of short guys came shortly after, one constantly littered with wounds that Jack would stitch up. He’d bring Jack meals as payment. Jeff and BEN were their names, who heard of Jack through Clocky. Eventually, a pretty young woman on Toby’s arm came by frequently. Nina was all over Jack for a few weeks, until she eventually settled down and their friendship could become steady. Some days, he walked another eyeless college student named Lulu back to her hospital.

➣Albeit appreciative, none of these friendships filled the ache. Jack grew up family-oriented. He grew up with so many little siblings to take care of, and he spent a year fantasizing about a family with Jenny. He was riddled with too much shame to return home.

➣It wasn’t until a little demon girl came kicking and screaming into his life. Lazari was the daughter of Zalgo, the same entity that took over his body for nearly a year. Just like him, the proxies were hunting her, and just like him, she evaded every attack. 

➣Jack was able to reason with her. He caught her sniffling and crying. He brought her into his arms and into his home. He made her dinner, brushed her long brown hair, and told her it would be okay. They were like siblings, weren’t they? Both were made this way by the same demon.

➣From here on out, Jack’s dedicated himself to Lazari. Quickly, Lazari filled the role of a little sister. 

➣If Lazari could be just as monstrous as him, and yet filled with so much love and life…

➣Maybe Jack could be alright with his wavering humanity, too.

[anonymous-dentist]

Playing fast and loose with the rules here, but: an Ordem Paranormal AU (kind of.)

-

So, okay, here's the thing: Roier really doesn't believe in ghosts anymore. Ghosts aren't real, demons certainly aren't real, none of it is!

What is real is Instagram, and so that's what he does best: Instagram.

But the thing is- the thing is! Roier doesn't believe in ghosts, but he's pretty sure his bosses do, because all he does at work is photoshop cheap-looking graphics together and post 'Paranormal Safety Tips'.

"Some people may not realize that they're getting involved with the supernatural," Mr. Veríssimo says, "It's important to make sure that they're at least somewhat protected."

Which is fine and all, but also. Ghosts aren't real. Neither are demons- demons especially aren't real.

But Roier does his job, and he does it quite happily. It's decent pay, especially considering he's been in Brazil for just under a month now and this was the only place to actually respond to his job application. He gets to work from home. He gets one free coffee at a local cafe once a month.

That's right. Roier is the first ever social media manager for the Ordo Realitas, and he's doing a great job at it.

...But also. Ghosts aren't real. Neither are demons. Hell isn't real, and neither is the Devil. Blood is blood, and it doesn't breathe.

(Usually.)

-

Roier's neighbors like to argue all day and throw things and cause immense destruction towards themselves and their property, so Roier usually ends up spending at least one afternoon a week at the nearest library doing his job and watching YouTube videos.

He likes the library. It's quiet-ish, and it's across the street from this really good restaurant that makes Mexican food that almost tastes like the genuine article.

He especially likes the librarian: the one with the scars and the freaky vibes. He doesn't blink a lot, and Roier isn't sure he's ever seen this guy breathe, but that's fine. He always saves a table near an outlet for Roier and his laptop, and he doesn't question the absolutely freakish shit Roier has to make for his company's Instagram page.

Like today's 'Paranormal Safety Tip': 'If you find yourself face-to-face with a restless spirit, it's important to remain calm. Loud noises startle spirits, so stay quiet and back away slowly. Chances are, you'll get out of the situation unharmed. Once in a safe location, call the Ordo Realitas, and we'll send an agent out to handle the spirit for you!'

The text is the second photo out of two on the post. The first photo is going to be a MS-Paint sketch of a pissed-looking cartoon ghost holding a shotgun and shouting, in a white speech bubble, "I'm going to shoot you!!! >:("

Roier doesn't have a mouse, so he draws using his trackpad, and the librarian watches from over Roier's shoulder and only laughs a little.

"Shut up," Roier huffs. "It's art!"

"It is," the librarian agrees. "But that isn't what ghosts look like."

Roier turns around to glare at him. "What, and you know?"

The librarian nods.

Roier turns back around. Everybody's a critic...

"Don't you have a job to be doing?" he taunts.

"Normally, yeah, but nobody else is here," the librarian responds. "It's just us."

He pulls out the chair opposite Roier and sits, arms crossed across his chest. This close together, Roier notices that some of the scars on the librarian's arms almost seem to make patterns: triangles, spirals... words? Huh.

Whatever, that isn't any of Roier's business. So what if his favorite librarian is a shady guy? So is Roier! He can't judge.

But, looking up from his laptop (and from the librarian's very nice arms), Roier notices that there really isn't anybody else in the library. He hadn't even noticed how quiet it had gotten, he was so caught up in his masterpiece drawing. All of the usual patrons- the old man reading the newspaper, the mother and her children in the corner, the students arguing over their latest project- are all missing. So are all of the other librarians.

"Huh," Roier smartly says.

He looks back at his laptop, and then he starts scrolling down through the Instagram page. He's sure that he's written something up about sudden disappearances...

"I was honestly surprised to find you over here," the librarian continues. "I figured you would have gone where everybody else did."

Roier shakes his head. "Nah, I'm here. I've got shit to do, man. Important shit."

The librarian nods. "Instagram."

Roier looks up from his laptop and points a finger at the librarian.

"Work," he corrects, waggling his finger just a little. "I'm doing work."

"You're drawing shitty ghosts and posting them on Instagram."

"And I'm getting paid for it. I'll fucking take this over my old job."

"Really? What was your old job?"

Roier thinks back to Mexico and the weeks leading up to his wedding. Sitting outside of his soon-to-be husband's window at night with binoculars, following him around town, slashing his tires so he wouldn't leave to go to the bar when Roier had a game night planned between them.

"Surveillance," he quickly says. "Like, cameras and shit. It was boring, though. Lots of waiting."

"Sounds fun, honestly." The librarian shrugs; his leg bounces under the table hard enough to shake it, nervous. "I could handle that."

"What, is librarian-ing that boring?"

"No, but it's a lot more socializing than you'd think. It can be a bit... much sometimes."

Roier nods sympathetically. He's more of an introvert than a lot of people think he is, especially now after... after everything.

He frowns as he reaches the bottom of the Instagram. Nope, nothing about weird group disappearances.

...It's probably fine?

Roier cranes his neck to try and look over the librarian's shoulder.

"Where is everybody?" he asks.

The librarian shrugs. "I was on my break. I came out of the break room, and everyone was gone."

He turns his head to try and follow Roier's gaze.

"Sometimes we do community events," he continues, "but I don't think that there was one scheduled for today."

"Huh," Roier says, a perfect echo of when he had last said it. "That's kinda weird, right?"

"...Yeah."

They both sit there in silence for a moment before the librarian awkwardly clears his throat and turns his head to the side.

"Should we... look for them?" he asks.

Every single post that Roier has done for the Ordo Realitas has ended with him telling the public to call the Ordo when they're experiencing something paranormal in nature. So... should he call them?

But also. He's the Ordo Realitas. He's the guy who goes through all of the dms the Ordo gets on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook... everywhere!

Besides! Ghosts aren't real! Neither are demons.

So Roier pushes back his chair and stands.

"Come on," he tells the librarian, hurriedly packing his laptop away in his bag and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I bet they just went outside. We probably missed a fire alarm or something."

"We would've heard a fire alarm," the librarian huffs.

But he stands, anyway, and he joins Roier as he starts making his way through the library.

It isn't a huge library, is the thing. It's small. Its shelves are short enough for Roier to easily be able to see over the tops of them. There's only one main room, and then there's the break room that the librarian seems to believe is also completely empty. There is one set of main doors at the front of the main room, and then there are a few windows along the walls.

As Roier and the librarian pass through the shelves and make it into the open area in the middle of the room- where the circulation desk is, Roier notices a weird chill in the air that he swears wasn't there a minute ago.

"Huh," says the librarian, looking down at their feet, "maybe there was a fire, after all."

Roier looks down, too. His nose wrinkles. This, he remembers posting about.

A thin layer of smoke covers the floor, not quite enough to reach halfway up Roier's shoes. It's cold, of course it's cold. It isn't even smoke, really. It's freaky mist... stuff.

Roier's hand tightens around the strap of his bag: white knuckles and stinging palm. Not again...

The librarian swings a foot through the mist absently; the mist kicks up briefly, but it settles back down almost immediately.

What did that post say, again? God, Roier needs a rubber bracelet saying, 'WWMVD?': What Would Mr. Veríssimo do?

Roier has met Mr. Veríssimo only twice, and he had a gun in his hands both times.

Roier does not have a gun now.

...But, really, are guns even necessary? It's just mist, right?

Only just a little freaked out, Roier shuffles a step closer to the librarian.

"Maybe we should get out of here," the librarian says, reading Roier's goddamn mind. "I mean. If there is a fire, we definitely need to leave."

Roier nods in agreement. "Yes. Definitely."

Neither of them move.

Roier jumps and bumps into the librarian as a book falls from a shelf on the other side of the room.

The librarian grabs him by the arm and stabilizes him, not letting go.

They both look in the direction of the fallen book.

"Dude," says Roier, "I think your library is haunted."

"We're in Brazil," the librarian responds. "I think every building is haunted here."

Roier nods. Makes sense. Ghosts aren't real, but Brazil is probably haunted as shit. That's why the Ordo Realitas is based here and not in, like, Paraguay. Or something.

They stare at the book some more. The mist reaches towards it like a needy baby, but it doesn't quite make it.

"You're a librarian," Roier says, "you should go pick that up."

The librarian shakily sighs, "Yeah. I should, shouldn't I?"

He sucks in a breath, lets it out slowly. Straightens his shoulders. Marches towards the book, pulling Roier along with him; Roier doesn't fight too much. He doesn't want to be alone right now, either.

They get to the book.

The librarian looks down at it.

Slowly, he bends down. He picks the book up with one hand.

And then he immediately drops the book and skitters back a few steps, bumping into Roier's chest and almost knocking them both over.

Panicked-sounding, the librarian wheezes, "It's hot!"

"It's a book!" Roier argues. "It can't be hot!"

The librarian shakes his head rapidly. "It's hot. It's warm. Like you."

Through all the terror in Roier's heart, he manages a faint blush.

"Are you really calling me hot right now?" he asks.

The librarian looks back at him with a very unhappy expression: wide eyes, unblinking.

"The book was breathing," he wheezes. "Dude, we need to go."

Breathing books... that's new.

Oh, no. That's new. That means that Mr. Veríssimo doesn't know about it yet. That means that it isn't on the Instagram yet. That means that it's Roier's job as social media manager to get it on the Instagram.

Nose wrinkling in disgust, Roier shakes the librarian off of him and crouches down next to the book. He pulls out his phone with shaking hands, opens the camera app. Takes a picture of the book's cover- a children's book: Learn Shapes With Bippi.

"Oh my God, you really are an Instagram guy," the libarian flatly says.

Roier waves him off with a 'Shush!'.

He grabs the book's cover by the corner with his thumb and pointer finger, and it takes everything for him to keep holding it because hooooly shit, it's breathing. It's warm and it's breathing and Roier swears there's a heartbeat, he swears!

"This sucks," he declares. "One more picture, and we're out of here."

He flips the cover over, ready to take a picture of just the title page, but he doesn't even finish reading the title again before dropping his phone and screaming and falling back onto his ass and scrambling backwards like an upside-down spider because oh God what the fuckOh GodWhatTheFuck-

"What the fuck?" the librarian screeches. "Alan?"

The face inside of the book lets out a moaned, pained breath. It blinks slowly, the page it's on trembling with the exertion. Its eyes are open and blank and staring and red and staring at Roier and- and its mouth! It's open and gaping and black and entirely too deep-seeming for the front page of a children's book. No nose, but two nostrils right in the middle of the page opening and closing with every ragged breath the face takes in. No skin, just the faintest indentation of a human face's internal musculature. No bones, just muscles, just muscles-

"'Alan'?" Roier gasps. His back bumps against the librarian's legs; the librarian pulls him up by the back of his shirt and tries to push him behind him. Yeah, no, Roier is the professional here. He's... he's the professional!

The librarian shakily nods. "Children's librarian. He's new. He's-"

"He's a fucking book!" Roier shouts. "What the fuck? Is this normal?"

"What? No! Of course it isn't normal!"

"Well! I don't know Alan! This could be normal! Who knows?"

"I know!" the librarian exclaims. He's still looking at the book. "Why is he a book!"

"How should I know?"

"You're the ghost guy!"

"Ghosts aren't real!"

The face groans and gurgles. The book it's in shakes, and it shakes so hard that it starts to move.

It starts to move right towards Roier and the librarian.

Roier grabs the librarian by his sleeve and starts tugging him away. Fuck his phone, fuck his phone! Mr. Veríssimo can just get him a new one! It's only fair! What the fuck!

"Cell... bit..." the face rasps.

The librarian grimaces.

"What the fuck is a 'Cellbit'?" Roier asks.

"Me," the librarian responds.

"Nice," Roier comments. "Stop looking at it. Let's go!"

But the librarian- Cellbit- doesn't budge, even with all of Roier's pulling.

"But... it's Alan," Cellbit insists. "He's a book. Is-" (He looks around the library, turning more and more pale with every passing second.) "-is everybody a book now?"

"Um," says Roier, looking around with him.

Now that he's looking, he can see that every single book on every single shelf around them is quivering in the same way the Alan Book is. There's a faint droning buzz around them that Roier is starting to think is actually hundreds of thousands of moaning, groaning, dying book faces.

He's going to be sick.

"This wasn't on the Instagram," is all he says before grabbing Cellbit firmly by the wrist and pulling him with all his strength away from the shelves. This time, Cellbit goes along with him even after jerking his wrist out of Roier's hold.

"This doesn't make any sense!" Cellbit shouts as they run. "People don't just become books!"

"I know that!" Roier replies. "This is fucked up, man!"

Another book falls from a shelf and starts wiggling towards them. And then another, and another, and another, and Roier knows that each one has a face inside. Every single one was a person ten minutes ago, but now. Now they're faces. In books. Flesh books. With heartbeats. And lungs.

Roier jumps over a fallen book. He glances down as he does so and gasps as he watches the cover fly open by itself and as the face on the title page snaps upwards and tries biting him with teeth that weren't there two seconds ago.

"They have teeth?" he cries. "Ew!!"

"They're book faces!" Cellbit huffs. "Why wouldn't they have teeth?"

"Fuck this. Fuck this!"

They make it out into the open area and the circulation desk. But the entire library around them is shaking and moaning and screaming- oh, the screaming!

Hundreds of books litter the floor slowly inching their ways towards Roier and Cellbit. They're all screaming as they drag themselves across the rough carpet.

Oh, God. The kids. Every person in this library except for the two of them are books. Including the kids.

"Doors," Cellbit wheezes, nodding towards the library doors.

Roier nods. "Doors."

They look at each other briefly before nodding in sync and taking off for the doors. Books fall all around them, tumbling to the floor and crawling after them with garbled screams and moans of pain.

"I'm trying to think," Cellbit breathes.

"Well, don't! Just run!" Roier snaps.

Cellbit ignores him and continues: "I wasn't holding a book. You weren't holding a book. We're fine. Alan was re-shelving the kids' section. He's a book."

He dodges to the side as a book lunges at him from its shelf.

"Okay?" Roier asks. "And?"

"And I bet everybody else touched a book!"

"We touched books!"

"But these ones are- fuck!" Cellbit swears and kicks a book that was trying to bite him away. "They're trying to bite us!"

Something sparks in Roier's brain.

"Werebooks?" he demands. "Really?"

Cellbit throws his hands up in the air. "I don't know! It's just a theory!"

Roier rolls his eyes, but he doesn't argue. Werebooks, sure. Those can be real. (Not ghosts, though. Or demonds.)

He and Cellbit get to the door.

They push the door open.

They run outside and wince at the sunlight blasting them right in the eyes.

But there are still books behind them. Roier can hear them.

Fuck! WWMVD?

The Ordo Realitas hunts the paranormal, Roier thinks. That's what everybody else does. But he's just a social media manager! He doesn't do that kind of stuff!

But if he doesn't stop all of those books from leaving the library, then God only knows how many of them would do... werebook things. They're disgusting. They're inhuman. They're monstrous. They're a danger to the world, and Roier has to stop them.

But how do you kill a bunch of books?

For whatever reason, his mind takes him back to the night after his wedding. Natalan stands in front of him with a lighter held to their marriage certificate, smiling as Roier struggles against his ropes to try and save their marriage from quite literally going up into flames.

"Fire," he gasps, suddenly back in the moment.

He spins to look at Cellbit, but Cellbit already seems on it. His hands are already searching his pockets desperately, and he's swearing under his breath.

Roier looks around the street desperately. There's the restaurant across the street. There are cars on the road. Tourists taking photos. Dogs. Cats.

An old man lighting a cigarette on the corner.

Roier grins and charges towards the old man.

"Sorry!" he shouts, swiping the lighter from him and ignoring the shouts (and the angry old man) following him as he runs back to the library.

Cellbit immediately reaches for the lighter. "Let me. It's my library."

But Roier ducks away and flicks the lighter open himself.

"And it's my job," he says. "Stand back."

He stares at the lighter's tiny little flame nervously, and then he looks at the doors to the library.

When he moved to Brazil a month ago, he didn't think he would be committing arson. But, well. Life isn't always what you expect it to be.

Roier takes a running start, and then he throws the lighter into the library. It hits the carpet, and the flames spread, well, like wildfire. (Thank God, the building is old...)

The books all scream in agony as they're burned, but Roier doesn't really give a shit. Fuck them, they're evil. Creepy-ass books...

He kicks the library's doors shut, and he walks back to Cellbit and the very angry old man.

Panting, Roier leans against a telephone pole. His bag is somehow still on his shoulder, but his phone is still inside.

He looks at Cellbit.

"Can I borrow your phone?" he asks. "I need to call my boss."

Cellbit doesn't look away from the library. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it with his thumbprint, and holds it out for Roier to take.

Roier puts in the Ordo's number and puts the phone to his ear. He listens to the dial tone, and he smiles as he hears the secretary's voice.

"Can you give me Mr. Veríssimo?" Roier asks her. "He's gonna want to hear this."

[rdr2stories]

"The Coyote And The Wolf" a Jovier fanfiction.

A 6000 word fanfiction about John and Javier through the games.

"No hurt that Javier experienced from losing a meaningless necklace could replace the hurt John had felt losing his brother."

The small chips of wood laid by John’s feet as he carefully carved out the form of a coyote’s tooth in the small wood lump that he had found laying around the camp. It was a gift he was making for the new kid, or man as he was, the Mexican one. John didn’t know if he liked coyotes but the animal reminded him of the man, he didn’t really know much about him at all, he didn’t speak English and John didn’t speak Spanish.

To be honest he didn’t really care that the two of them didn’t speak the same language because the man could drink, smoke and listen to John venting about Abigail without interrupting, so that is what they did, last time a bit too hard.

They had been at a local town’s saloon, just the two of them, when some big guy had needed someone to shout at and thought of Javier as an easy target. Javier had obviously not understood what the man said, which annoyed the man even more and, in the end, led to a fight, a quite violent one that earned Javier a nasty wound down his cheek, it was sure to leave a scar.

John had to admit that he blamed himself for it, he was the one who had asked Javier to go out full knowing that people tended to pick on him more easily than John, it had been a selfish request. He didn’t know if Javier blamed him as well, he couldn’t tell from the man’s indifferent face, and he couldn’t verbally say sorry either, so from that came the little wood carving that matched the one he had made himself a few hours earlier. His was a wolf’s tooth and together the two carvings were a peace offering.

When he had told Mary Beth his idea she had giggled, saying it reminded her of the friendship bracelets she had made her and Tilly.

Friendship bracelets as if John and Javier weren’t outlaws with more money on their heads than in their pockets, at least in his own case, he didn’t fully know about Javier, he hadn’t said what he had done but surely it had to be something big since he fled his entire country. John couldn’t imagine what he had done that had led him to just grab a bag and run to a country where he in every sense was worse off.

John held the two wooden carvings up. Javier’s was a bit smaller simply due to the fact that the real thing was as well, he hoped that Javier would understand that and not see it as something else. God, it was hard having a friend you couldn’t verbally communicate with.

“Whatever,” John mumbled as he used the tip of his knife to carve out a hole in the blunt end of the teeth and put a thin leather string through each of them, tying them into two necklaces that he stuffed in his pocket for now.

He got up from the stump he had sat on, cracked his back, and brushed the worst wood dust off his pants before making his way back to camp. He found Javier sitting in the middle of the camp, his back against a crate and a cigarette between his lips as he cleaned his gun with a cloth, not even looking up at John as he approached.

“Hey, Javier,” John spoke, finally gaining Javier’s attention and making him look up, showing John the not-so-prettily healing wound on his cheek.

“¿Cómo?” Javier replied unbothered as he removed his cigarette to blow out a cloud of smoke.

“Brother I got no idea what you are saying, just come on,” John replied as he gave Javier a small kick, earning a grunt and a glare but Javier complied, putting his gun back in its holster and getting to his feet before throwing the cigarette on the ground. “Come on.” John began to lead Javier away from the camp, promptly followed by Abigail’s complaining.

“Don’t you dare go too far!” Abigail shouted and John let out a grunt.

“Yeah, yeah,” he merely mumbled, feeling the annoyance of being trapped creep up on him. He was never allowed to leave camp those days for any longer than a mere couple of honors, it seemed that everyone thought just because Abigail was pregnant that John didn’t know how to take care of himself any longer. “Hey, we ain’t going that far,” John spoke as he saw Javier near Boaz.

Javier frowned slightly, unable to understand.

“No,” John spoke as he pointed towards the tied-up horses. “No horses.”

Javier looked between Boaz and John for a second before nodding understandingly and returning to John.

“Alright, come on, we are just going up to the trees,” John said, giving Javier a clap on his shoulder before continuing up to the tree line of the woods surrounding their camp. He didn't know why he felt like he needed to hide their little exchange, he wasn’t ashamed of his friendship with Javier nor was he ashamed of his carvings.

When they finally were out of sight from camp, John halted, Javier following as he let out a small chuckle.

“¿Qué? ¿Vas a besarme o algo?” Javier spoke in a sarcastic voice, obviously making a joke that John did not understand.

John sighed slightly before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the necklaces. “I made these, as an apology.” He held the coyote tooth out for Javier who just looked cautiously between it and John.

“Yours,” John shoved it into Javier’s hands, making it clear that it was a present. “Apology,” he repeated in slight annoyance as he gestured at the wound. “Sorry, peace offering.”

Javier chuckled slightly as he looked at the carving. “Eso es bastante dulce.” He looked up at John, grinning, and gave him a small punch to the shoulder. “En este punto podría pedirte que me besaras.”

John smiled slightly. “You know, I got no idea what you are saying but you seem happy so I guess it is good enough.”

—

John’s fidgeted with the wooden carving hanging around his neck as he spaced out. His mind was running a thousand miles an hour and his chest was aching with anxiety. He didn’t know if he could get himself to do what he had planned, but then again he also knew that he couldn’t stay. His cheek had a permanent red mark just as his ass had for sitting still too long. He was allowed to do nothing, he wasn’t allowed to hunt, not that he was any good at it, he wasn’t allowed to go fishing with Javier, not that he was any good at that either, nor was he allowed to go drink, even though he was quite good at that. He wasn’t allowed any excuse to leave the camp.

He hadn’t been allowed to leave for weeks and taking his frustrations out on the firewood only helped him so much. He needed freedom, he needed to spread his wings and run, so he was going to, but this time he wasn’t just going to run into town, no he was going much further, far far away.

He did feel a little bad for Abigail, but it was her who had insisted on keeping him locked up in camp anyways! Her and Hosea, but he didn’t blame Hosea as much because at least he allowed Javier to sneak booze in for him, booze that Abigail said was a “bad influence” on him.

Javier had always been John’s savior, always been the one to sneak in drinks, smokes or whatever else Abigail had restricted him from. He didn’t want to leave Javier but he couldn’t bring him either, he had thought about it but decided against it. It would be unfair to Javier who was just starting to fit into the gang.

But John knew that Javier would be fine, Javier had made friends around camp, most surprisingly Bill Williamson, when he was sober that was. They worked quite well together, which partly had also been because Javier could put Bill in his place. John wondered if Bill actually liked being brought to his knees by Javier.

The night that John left, he briefly considered waking Javier up to say goodbye but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that he had to leave silently, he hoped that the letter he had stuffed in Javier’s boot would provide enough of an explanation both as to why John ran but also why Javier should keep silent about where John was first headed.

It was a little strange to John, when he had first made the teeth that both the men kept close to them, Javier hadn’t even spoken English, let alone been able to read it, now he read far better than both John and Arthur.

Hosea had been the one reaching Javier and he had learned quickly, picking up any book he could find and following Hosea around camp for hours just in case he found a word he didn’t know.

John didn’t think that Javier had started learning to read English because he liked to read, he had actually seemed like he had hated it, but the constant reminder that his inability to read it had made him less in some people’s eyes had driven him to do it. Now he never read in camp, but sometimes John would see Javier go off to fish with a romance book tugged in his bag.

The memory of what he was leaving behind suddenly made the wooden tooth heavy around John’s neck.

—

“What is this?” The girl in his arms asked as she played with the wooden tooth hanging around his neck, a flirty smile on her face. “A wolf tooth~? For such a big strong man like yourself, it seems quite fitting~”

John grunted, he didn’t feel big or strong. It had been a year since he had run off like a coward and he hadn’t taken the tooth off for a moment. He had kept it both because he liked it, but also because he knew that he was hurting himself with it and he felt like he deserved it. He could feel the shame of leaving Javier behind weighing heavy on him.

“Yeah,” John replied as he took it from her hand and held it up, feeling her fingers tangle themselves into his hair. She wasn’t the first working girl to ask about it, but she was the first that he felt inclined to tell the truth about it to. It didn’t mean that he liked her better than the others, it was simply because he missed Javier. “I made a coyote’s tooth for my friend as well.”

The girl giggled, her free hand roaming his chest. “What? Like a friendship bracelet?”

John shook his head. Back in camp, he used to be so angry when people said that, but not anymore because in a way it did feel like a friendship bracelet, not that he was going to say that out loud. “More in the way we are personality-wise. Black wolves are aggressive, stubborn, impatient, and short-tempered, but coyotes? They are intelligent, independent, cunning when needed, but always reliant.”

“Is that so?” The girl asked as he got up from the bed in the room they had rented above the saloon. She probably knew to stop there, there was a high chance she had heard a lot of similar stories and knew they didn’t end well.

“Hm,” John merely replied, letting out a sigh.

He felt like a jerk, fuck.

—

John had practically made best friends with the newspaper boy by the street corner who probably thought of him as a weirdo for always being the first person to buy the new edition and to specially request as many newspapers from other areas as the boy could get his hands on. It wasn’t a lot.

Every day John would read over the newspapers, searching for anything that even smelled like Dutch Van Der Linde, which was often a sweet soap that seemed weirdly out of nothing just like his crimes.

It had taken him weeks to finally find something, though it smelled more like Arthur Morgan than Dutch Van Der Linde, but it was close enough.

John packed his horse with his tent and the supplies that he had either paid for in blood money or bounty money and sat off.

Up and down mountains, across rivers and avoiding the law in a town where he and Arthur had royally fucked up some years back, he moved along, but when he was suddenly ambushed by what he was sure was an O’Driscoll, he knew he was close. Whether it was intentional or not, Dutch was always close to Colm and his gang.

John went to the nearby town, found the saloon, and went to the bartender, for once in his life glad that the gang didn’t know that drinking could go quietly. With Arthur’s go-happy drunken self, Bill’s “I will kill anyone nearing me” drunken glare and Javier’s eternal drunk teasing, the gang never went unnoticed and the bartender most certainly remembered them even though it had already been a week since he had seen them. The group had come in, gotten drunk, and while half were dancing can can the others were fighting each other. If that wasn’t the Van Der Linde gang, he was about to find a bunch of double gangers.

John got the direction that the group had headed to of the bartender with the promise that he would tell them to come back and pay for a window broken by a guy who fitted Bill’s description.

John searched the nearby area of the direction that the bartender had pointed him to and found the remains of a camp, the littered metal cans, the outlines of tents, the rest of a camp fire and tracks on the ground. Suddenly he was glad that it had rained recently, though he had hated it in the moment because he had been freezing, but now it not only gave him the knowledge that they had left within the last couple of days, but it also gave him the knowledge of where they were going.

John followed the tracks down a dirt path to a bigger dirt road, trying to keep an eye on which tracks were the Van Der Linde and which were just other travelers.

A couple of hours into his search, he suddenly stopped, narrowing his eyes at a smaller path breaking off. He had a strange feeling to follow it. It would be risky, it truly would be, especially because he would not be able to identify the Van Der Linde tracks again but also because there were no wagon tracks leading up that path, just hoof prints.

Yet he did it, he let his eyes leave the tracks and nudged his horse forward into a trot up the road. He already regretted it, fuck he regretted it. His gut feeling had never been worth anything, but he couldn’t turn back now.

The turns that John took led him into more open fields, something that the gang would never like, yet he knew that something was waiting for him. He damn hoped that it was good.

Just as he reached up to fidget with the carving around his neck, something he found himself doing a lot when anxious, he saw something.

By a small river further away stood a person humming to themselves as they threw the fishing line out into the water. John did not need to get any closer to know who owned the silly hat on that person’s head. Javier Escuella.

John kicked his horse in the side a bit harder than he had intended to and sat into a gallop, sliding to a stop just as Javier turned to point a gun at him.

Javier’s eyes widened as he saw John upon his horse, heavy in breath, his eyes holding both relief but also pure terror.

“John?” Javier asked as he lowered his gun. “I thought you was dead!”

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easily,” John replied, noticing that Javier still carried the coyote’s tooth around his neck on the outside of his jacket. Oh what a sweet relief, if he still carried it maybe he didn’t hate John, or maybe he just used it as a reminder not to trust people, just as John had carried his as a reminder of what he had left behind.

His stomach curled anxiously.

“Well get down from there!” Javier spoke with a wide smile, embracing John in a hug as soon as he swung himself off his horse. “I missed you like crazy compadre!”

“You aren’t mad at me?” John asked cautiously as Javier swung his arm around John’s shoulders and led him down to the small camp he had made by the river.

“De ninguna manera!” Javier replied as he gestured for John to sit by the fire. “That lady of yours was going to kill you faster than a bullet if you had stayed, I would have run too.”

“I ain’t sure I got a lady no more,” John replied, watching Javier chuckle.

“Maybe that is a good thing. She doesn’t seem to have become much better, she is tired all the time. That kid of yours isn’t easy.”

“I ain’t sure it is my kid either.”

“Well they sure think it is yours.” Javier walked over to a small bag he had lying by the water, pulled a big fish out of it and put it over the fire.

“Yeah but is it mine?”

“Don’t matter,” Javier shrugged as he sat down next to John. “They think it is yours so for all that matters it is yours.”

“Sadly.” John grunted as he crossed his legs underneath him, his hand instinctively going to the wooden tooth as a moment of silence fell over them. He used to love those comfortable silences but right now when he didn’t fully know where he stood with Javier, he hated it.

“Are you coming back to camp?” Javier then asked as he took the fish off the fire, cutting it in half with his hunting knife and passing half to John.

“I want to,” John replied as he removed a bone from the fish. “But I don’t know if I can.”

“They are pretty mad at you,” Javier said as he picked some meat off the fish. “Arthur has been throwing your name around like it is a slur.”

John made a grimace, ouch that hurt, but it was also to be expected. It was first after he had left that he realized the parallels between him and Arthur and the differences in how they had handled an unexpected kid. If he was Arthur he would probably hate himself too, if he could give Abigail and Jack to that big loaf of muscle he would, Arthur would make a better father and husband than John ever could.

“I am not sure Dutch would let me back in, we got a policy for traitors,” John said as he picked at the fish, not really having an appetite.

“Dutch will be fine,” Javier replied, watching John before handing him a smoke to switch the fish for. “You is his family, he defines your name, at least to some degree.” He grinned slightly,

“Really?” John asked as he handed Javier his half of the fish and placed the smoke between his lips, lighting a match with the bottom of his shoe.

“Sí, when Arthur gets real mad he reminds him of all the good you did.”

John blew out a cloud of smoke and snorted. “Like what?”

“Dunno, didn’t listen,” Javier replied before reaching over to gently punch John’s shoulder. “Come back, I will protect you.”

John smiled slightly. “Like some long-lost maiden, huh?”

“Long lost at least,” Javier grinned teasingly. “Maiden perhaps not yet, but keep growing that hair and you might turn into one.”

“As if you don’t have long hair as well.” John had gotten long hair though, he hadn’t cut it for a time and the ponytail he had gathered it in wasn’t so small any longer. He didn’t doubt that Grimsaw would have him cut it at least to his shoulders if he returned.

“Manly long hair, unlike you princesa.”

“Hey!” John exclaimed jokingly. “I ain’t no princess.”

“Oh, you understand Spanish now?” Javier got to his feet with a smile on his face, throwing the remains of the fish into a nearby bush. “¿Quién diría que un hombre tan malo como tú podría aprender un idioma tan bueno?”

John let out a huff as he looked up at Javier. “I still don’t understand you.”

“Por supuesto.” Javier went over to the fire, kicking some dirt into it and snuffing it out with his boot. “Come on brother, let’s get you home.”

—

John guessed that he should have been happy he was let back into camp at all, but he wasn’t in camp much anyway, mostly because people didn’t really want him there. Surprisingly, he didn’t care that much. He had all the freedom in the world, so he and Javier were often the ones taking the missions that required leaving camp for longer times, not that Arthur was very happy about it, he kept openly saying that John was going to run off again.

For years it became nearly impossible to find John without Javier by his side, they could be counted as one by then. If Javier needed to fish, John joined, if John went into store to buy ammo, Javier joined, and although it was never their plan, they always ended up doing more than what they had left camp to do.

They could be riding on their way back from town and suddenly see a small house, and naturally as the curious people they were, they went to look at it. That either lead to them running away laughing as the owner shot at them them or them helping the owner. They knew better than to leave bodies around for no reason, but they would if it excused them being away for longer, after all they couldn’t go back to camp if the body was still hot, someone might be following them.

By 1899 the wooden teeth that had rested on the mens necks for years had gotten miscolored with use and were even detailed on the outlaws warrant descriptions. They found it hilarious.

—

John was bleeding on Javier’s shoulder, more specifically on Javier’s poncho, the poncho John had once seen a teen try to steal and lost his ability to walk over.

John leaned away from Javier, trying to keep his balance as Boaz trotted through the heavy snow, he didn’t want to get any more blood on the fabric than he already had.

“Lean on me idiota, you are gonna fall.” Javier reached behind him, pushing John’s stomach flush against his back and securing John’s around around his waist.

“I will bleed all over your poncho,” John mumbled. The cold was making him both dizzy and tired at the same time, yet the stabbing in his face kept him awake.

“It can be washed and I don’t think you will survive a fall from a horse right now,” Javier huffed in slight annoyance. “That wolf tooth is a little ironic now, huh?”

John snorted as he rested his uninjured cheek on Javier’s shoulder. “I got a taste of the real thing now, powerful stuff.”

“Like you, strong enough to survive this, as long as you stay on the horse,” Javier reached down, laying a hand on John’s around his waist as he felt the grasp loosen. “Don’t you pass out on me now brother.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John mumbled before jerking wide awake as Javier pinched the skin on his hand. “Ow!”

“Stay awake!”

“Alright, alright, I am awake,” John said as he placed his chin on Javier’s shoulder, watching the path before them.

Arthur snorted as he followed behind them.

John being bedridden did not at all help his relationship with Abigail who was sitting by his side at every waking moment. It reminded him a lot of the time around Jack’s birth, except he didn’t have the opportunity to sneak out with Javier or even drink. All he could do was lay and either sleep or try to fall asleep and fail due to Abigail’s constant complaining and nagging about how he had reached a new low, as if he had chosen to almost get eaten alive by wolves.

Javier joined John when he could, which wasn’t that often, a lot needed to get done to keep them all alive and Javier was one of the few people still able to man a gun after Blackwater, but when he was around John didn’t mind his bedridden state as much. He did however dislike how Abigail was always present even when Javier was, they never had a single moment alone so Javier never had the chance to slip him some booze to dull the mental pain.

When they had reached Horseshoe Overlook, John had finally been allowed out of bed, he wasn’t allowed to do much, but at least he had been allowed to join Arthur and Bill for the search of some O’Driscolls with that Kieran guy Arthur had captured up in Colter. It wasn’t something big, but it was at least an excuse to get out of camp and away from Abigail’s yapping.

Those missions and the nights were his to enjoy, Abigail often went to bed early so that meant he could drink with Javier.

John had practically laughed when Javier had returned to camp one day from the local town Valentine with a nasty but superficial wound over his face. It seemed that him, Bill, Arthur, and Charles had gotten into a bar fight.

“Trying to imitate me?” John asked teasingly as Javier dumped himself down next to him by the fire, smearing some blood over his face as he tried to remove the dirt Bill’s horse Brown Jack had kicked up.

“I would go for a coyote if I was,” Javier snorted and let out a string of annoyed Spanish curses as the wound began to bleed again.

“Let me take care of that,” John said as he got to his feet and headed to his tent.

“No need.”

“I will do it anyways,” John spoke as he returned with some alcohol, some wipes and a small bandage. “I have gotten quite good at treating facial wounds.” He gestured at his own mauled face before sitting down on a crate by the fire. “Sit.”

“Ordering me around, are you now?” Javier asked but still complied and sat down on the ground in front of John, staying still as the other man grabbed his chin with one hand and slowly began to work on the wound.

John looked down at Javier and the wound right above the scar that was left from one of their first drinking trips. His heart fluttered slightly at the sight of the man looking up at him. Quickly, he looked away, working on the wound the same way he had worked on his own after getting tired of Abigail doing it for him.

He could see the wooden tooth hanging around Javier’s neck and for a moment he wondered. Friendship.

“There,” John said, his hand leaving Javier’s stubbled chin, his fingers already missing the warmth of the other man’s skin. “You will be okay.”

Javier let out an amused huff. “Thank you for saving my poor life.”

—

“Javier, can’t you see it?” John asked as they sat around the fire at Beaver Hollow, the first time in a long time where they were alone, the first time in a long time where they could talk.

“See what exactly?” Javier asked, his voice almost as desperate as John’s as he put down his guitar. He hadn’t played it in a long time but he still held it every now and then. The camp did feel empty without its music but the silence was preferable to the anger that no doubt would rise when the gang gathered around. “A string of bad luck? Why are you acting this way? Explain it to me.”

“Because of Dutch! He isn’t right in the mind. He left me Javier, left me!” John argued, the hand over his chest clenching the fabric of his shirt. “They was talking of hanging me! I was going to die!”

“He had a plan!” Javier argued back. “He was going to get you! Just like he got to me on Guarma! My leg was wounded, I was kicked, beaten, dragged over the ground by a mule! I was caged up but I knew Dutch wouldn’t leave me. You were stuck in prison, of course it was going to take some time to find a way to get you out.”

John let out a sorrowed sigh, his face falling. “You didn’t see it, you weren’t there when they arrested me. He had a chance to save me, he could have saved me, there was a moment… A moment where he could have done something, but he didn’t, he left.”

Javier shook his head. “John, I want to believe you, I do, you know I trust you… But I trust Dutch too, he has saved me several times.”

“He saved me too when I was a kid, I saw him as my father. Javier, this isn’t easy for me to say, I just don’t… I don’t know, it doesn’t feel safe, he has slipped. Have you heard him plan recently?”

“No, but I know that his plans normally work out. I don’t know how he can just change.”

John looked down at the ground, his hand going up to fidget with the necklace. “Neither do I.”

Javier placed a hand on John’s arm, making him look up at him, and gave him a small smile. “We will be okay, we just have to have some faith in Dutch. One last job and we are out of here to Tahiti or wherever he wants us to go.”

John’s heart ached, he wanted to believe that, he really did but he couldn’t. He knew they would never make it to Tahiti. No matter how bad it became between him and Dutch, he knew that he and Javier would be okay. “Yeah.”

—

Friendship, friendship, John didn’t know much about friendship but he knew that whatever the fuck this was was not friendship!

John’s eyes widened, his hand clenching around the wounded shoulder as he watched Javier stand on the other side of the camp, his gun drawn and eyes on the ground, his gun drawn at John and Arthur. His friend was drawing a gun on him when he was wounded?

Look at me! Look at me god damnit! John wanted to scream. He wanted to shout across the camp into the forest and down to Annesburg. Fuck the Pinkertons, fuck the Murfree Brood, fuck the law, he needed Javier to look him in the fucking eyes as he drew that gun at him,

Javier didn’t even have the guts to look John in the eyes or point the gun at him when he turned his back on John and sided with the man who had left John to die. Instead, he was pointing the gun at the sky and looking at the ground like the fucking coward he was, oh John hoped that Javier was looking right down his chest, he hoped that the man could see the symbol of their friendship hanging around his neck and he hoped that it choked him like a noose. How fucking dared Javier wear that when he went against everything it stood for?

Did their years of friendship mean nothing? Did everything they had gone through mean nothing? John did not know what Javier thought of him, but John knew that Javier was no friend of his.

—

The final brick had been laid on the new house and John took a moment to step back and look over the place he could now call home. It wasn’t much, yet, but Beechers Hope was slowly starting to look like a place he could bring Abigail and Jack back to, it just needed a little furnishing and it would be perfect.

It was also nice being back with some of the old gang members, Sadie, Charles, even Uncle. He never thought he would say he was glad being around Uncle, but he was, even though he had been less optimistic when he had run into him back in Blackwater.

He missed the old gang, the old times.

He reached up to where the wooden tooth had hung around his neck for years, clenching the fabric of his collar. He hadn’t worn the necklace since everything went down in Beaver’s Creek, yet the anxious fidget remained and he hated himself for it. Javier had betrayed him, he had chosen Dutch over him, had drawn a gun on him. He couldn’t forgive Javier no matter how much he missed the happy times they had had together.

—

Time had not been on Javier’s side, or maybe it was simply because all the ugly inside was finally starting to show outside. His hair stood out to every side underneath that god-forsaken hat that John had always hated but accepted as Javier’s culture. Now he wanted to shoot it right off.

“Hello old friend,” John spoke as he pointed the gun at Javier in the small storage room. It had been twelve years since he had seen that face and he could happily have gone twelve more. “It has been a long time.” Not long enough though, he only accepted the situation because of the whole Abigail thing and the fact that he might end it just like he had with Micah four years prior. He had been happy he killed Micah, and he would be happy killing Javier too. He had imagined it since he had watched Micah bleed in the snow. The image had made him happy… But at the same time… He couldn’t imagine killing his friend, he always had to remind himself that his Javier was already dead.

“Hello brother, it is uh, good to see you,” Javier said and John had to hold in a scuff, brother? Really? They hadn’t been that for twelve years. “I heard you was coming, took your time no? Come on you aren’t gonna shoot your own brother, are you? We was family.”

That was where Javier was wrong, John was going to shoot the moment Javier breathed in the wrong direction.

“Yeah, we were, then you and Dutch went crazy and then family didn’t mean so much.” His breath hitched in his throat as Javier chuckled, shaking his head slightly. Underneath Javier’s coat was a necklace, a wooden tooth, the coyote tooth that John had carved so many years ago for the both of them, the one that John had thrown in a bag and never looked at again but been unable to throw away. Javier still wore it. How fucking dare he, how dare he wear the symbol of their friendship with so much ease when he betrayed John just as easily?

Javier could rot in hell.

—

“Ah shit, I hope you are struggling with what you are doing brother,” Javier spoke as he lad over John’s shoulder, his speech slurred from the blood running to his head.

Was John meant to struggle? Yes, and John did struggle as much as Javier had struggled turning his back on him, not at all… At least that was what he told himself because the truth was he did struggle, that nagging feeling in the back of his head was telling him that he was killing his friend, but he just had to remind himself that his Javier was gone. This Javier over his shoulder was not the Javier whose chin he had held in his hand, the Javier who had hung out with him even when they didn’t speak the same language, the Javier who had sneaked booze to him, the Javier who had welcomed him back with open arms, the Javier he had loved. Deep inside he still struggled to accept that person was dead and this person thrown over his shoulder was the sorry excuse of a man who remained

“You sold me out, did the life we had mean nothing to you? OW! OW SHIT! You puto!” Javier cursed as John threw the man to the floor in the cell, letting out a snort. Javier could call him anything he wanted, any curse word, any slur, John was done with Javier and the mere fact he dared bring up their old life was insulting. Javier had been the one turning his back on John first to leave him in the mess Dutch had created, now Javier was just angry John had decided to put a knife in that back.

—

The agents stood by the car, waiting for John to hail Javier off the back of his horse.

“Mister Marston, fancy seeing you here,” one of them joked and how John wished to put a bullet in that man's head, he would have had it not been for Abigail and Jack. He didn't even speak as the men went on a long monolog about justice and truth, he didn’t care for it, the only thing he cared for was his family.

One of them grabbed onto Javier’s shoulder and before John knew what he was doing he told them to stop. “Hey, hold on a second.” For a moment he saw something in Javier’s eyes, hope maybe, affection? Something that didn’t matter, he would be hanging from a noose in not too long.

John reached underneath Javier’s jacket and grabbed the tooth, yanking it off Javier’s neck, not even caring to look or be bothered with the hurt in his eyes.

No hurt that Javier experienced from losing a meaningless necklace could replace the hurt John had felt losing his brother.

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

I also appologize to Javier because I don't know spanish so his spanish has been reduced to DeepL. I actually dont know if this is too long for tumblr and if I should put it on ao3 instead but we will see.

[presidentlokis-hornyhelmet]

Please make more PAVITR X READER PLEASE 🥺🥺

- Angst

- Fluff

- Jealousy 😍

ANYTHING PLEASE

Six Feet's Never Felt So Far [Angst]

Summary: Pavitr is only belatedly told you were in the bus with Gayatri, but now it's too late. TW: Blood and Injury, Major Character Death, Near Death Experiences A/N: you said angst..👉👈 As usual all Hindi words and nicknames are googled, sorry if they're wrong! '^_^

Pavitr Prabhakar, aka Mumbattan's friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man,  swung to the accident spot immediately, getting to work.

A bridge connecting two cites across the ocean had collapsed in the middle and vehicles along with people were falling. Pavitr swung in saving a few civilians who fell off the railings and set them to safety. Screams get his attention and Pavitr finds a brightly coloured city bus about to tip off the broken edge of the bridge and ran towards it. 

"AAAH!"

Spidey turned around at the screech only to find Mr. Singh, his best friend Gayatri's father and Inspector of the local police station, about to be smashed by a falling concrete peice with the little child he saved. 

He needs to act soon. 

Pavitr quickly calculates that the bus is approximately six feet from safety. He could do this! 

He shoots his web, catching onto the rear end of the bus and ties it to a pole. He shoots another web at the inspector, pulling him away from the debris and to safety. 

Seeing the policeman is uninjured, he turns to the falling vehicle dangling by a literal thread. 

"All of you, get to the rear end!", he yells to the passengers stuck in the bus, shooting more webs at it. 

His efforts grow stronger when he sees Gayatri trapped inside, shouting for help. 

Inspector Singh joins him and together they pull the vehicle back onto more stable parts of the bridge. The passengers stumble out one by one, shaking and shivering from the near-death experience. 

Gayatri comes out and Pavitr rushes to her, throwing his arms around his best friend. He couldn't live without her rants and incessant fussing. 

"Thank God, you're okay!"

Spidey quickly retracts upon realizing he's being too familiar for a stranger, stuttering out excuses that don't come out as smooth as he likes. 

Gayatri's horrified expression softens a little when she sees her father and rushes towards him with extended hands, panicking. "Papa!" 

"Mera beta", the policeman says, sighing in relief as he kisses her forehead. "I thought I lost you." 

"Papa!", she tugged at his sleeve anxiously, tears pooling at her eyes as she pointed towards the bus, "Y/n is in there!" 

"What!?"

Colour drains from Pavitr's face under the mask and he rushes towards the bus, frantically searching for you inside and under the seats as the Inspector follows suit. 

A choked cough catches Spider-Man's attention and he turns, finding you jammed into the drivers seat at the damaged front of the bus. 

You seem to have crashed your head into the glass, blood trickling down your forehead. Pavitr tears up and gently pulls you into his arm, carrying you bridal style outside. 

'It okay, it's okay, N/n is alive', Pavitr chants, convincing himself that he made it in time. He won't let what happened to Uncle Bhim happen to you too! 

He tries so hard to be strong for you, but seeing you almost dead shook him. 

"You okay?", he croaks, hoping his voice doesn't give him away. Tears roll down his cheek under his mask as he tries not to break. 

"Pa..pavu.."

It was your nickname for him, one only you and Maya auntie were allowed to call him. But in that moment Pavitr didn't care if you knew his alter-ego, all he could think was how he saved you from the brink of death. 

"Pavu? Is he your boyfriend?", he jokes, hoping to make you feel better. 

It's an inside joke between you two, saying 'this is their boyfriend' everytime you pick up each other's call. 

You smile weakly. "You're... Spider-Man?" 

He nods, blinded by the tears clouding his vision, aware that you have a horrible pun in line. However, his smile falls when he sees your eyelids droop; blood trickles down your nose and you're losing consciousness. 

No, no, no, no, NO-! 

"Stay with me, N/n, please", he pats your cheeks hoping to prevent you from slipping out of consiouness. "C'mon", he tries desperately, holding to you tight to his chest as he shoots his web onto the railings of the bridge, "Stay with me. Just hang in there, we're going to the hospital. Everything will be fine!" 

You wheeze, struggling to breathe as you heave, and go lax in his arms. Pavitr is content, until he realises you let go. 

No, nO, NO, GOD, NO! 

"Pavu.. I love you....." 

Your body goes limp in his arms and that's when the whole world ceases moving for him. His heart beat stops as he freezes in shock, unable to digest your death. 

No, no, it's not possible! He can still save you! You've just blacked out, that's all! 

He can't.. won't lose you like this. 

Gayatri begins to cry, holding her father for comfort who soothes her with moistened eyes; you were a like a child to him too. 

Pavitr's knees buckle and he sinks to the ground, the gravity of your death too much for him to bear. Guilt chokes his throat and he lets out a loud cry, holding your lifeless body securely in his lap -afraid that if he lets go, you might just disappear. His shoulders sag as he leans into you, cradling your face, resting his forehead on yours one last time. 

The other spider heroes arrive just then to witness the ever cheerful Pavitr break. It's not, afterall, too far from what they themselves have experienced at some point; such was the curse upon every spider hero. 

Tears soak through his mask as Pavitr watches life leave you, sobbing at his cruel fate. 

"Meri jaan.." 

______________

*Meri jaan means "my life". I learnt it from another pavitr hc Tumblr post '^_^

[cinewhore]

The Duchess of London

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, drugs, blood, gore, sexual assault (not detailed), fighting, guns, smut (penetration, creampie, wrap it up lads!), fluff. 

A/N: The PB bug bit me and it bit me hard! Had to get this out. Takes place in season 2. Reminder that this is a bit dark given the contents of the show so if something rubs you the wrong way, don’t read it! You also don’t need to provide an explanation as to why you won’t read it, just keep scrolling. No beta cause I said so. Enjoy! Credits to the gif artist. 

Birmingham smelled like shit.

London smelled worse.

You thank your bodyguard as he helps you out of the car, careful not to drag your dress along the mud, it was brand new and you didn’t have the best relationship with the new seamstress that replaced your old one.

It was a strange thing, being back home. Your old stomping grounds. You remember the days fondly, racing up and down the roads, dashing through the traffic of folks who populated the area. You always found yourself somewhere you shouldn’t be, getting scolded by your aunt when you arrived home well past dark. There’s a slight twinge in your chest as you reminisce, desperately wishing you could go back.

Luckily, your old house wasn’t far from your lodgings, Rich spooked by the rumors of how lawless this part of town was. You couldn’t blame him, Birmingham had long been abandoned by any sense of law and order. The police only came when it benefited them, so the local organized crime had taken over.

“Rich, I’ll only be a few minutes. Keep the car running.” you instruct. The burly man nods in respect.

“Yes ma’am.” He tips his hat at you, heading back to the car.

It was a choice, coming back here. There were nothing but terrible memories you worked too hard to forget but you felt like you owed it to yourself and your aunt to come back. The house was exactly how you remembered it, sparse furnishings but warm with spirit.

Now it was half empty and lonely.

You were fast in your approach to gather anything you deemed important, the house was likely going to be cleaned and left up for rent. Photographs, scraps of clothing, broken china were all stuffed into a bag you brought with you. These were the broken fragments of your old life you weren’t ready to part ways with just yet.

After muttering a quick prayer for your aunt and hoping that the devil caught your uncle, you say goodbye to the Brimingham girl you used to be.

You needed a fucking drink.

You swagger into the Garrison, amused at the drunken men shouting across each other. You’re well aware of the stares you were receiving, knowing that a woman of your stature and style could only mean two things: you were a well off prostitute or the lavish wife of a man no one wanted to fuck with.

You took pride in being neither.

A man with a kind face smiles at you from behind the bar, throwing a white towel across his shoulder.

“What can I get you, love?”

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“What kind?”

You pretend to think about it. “Surprise me.”

The kind man chuckles to himself before hustling to get your drink. You dig around in your purse, pulling out a few bills that were much more than your drink likely cost. A hand covers your own as you slide the bills across the bar and you gaze up into a familiar face.

“I heard whispers about a very rich looking person coming into town, you wouldn’t have happened to see anything, have you?”

You couldn’t forget those piercing blue eyes even if you tried.

Suppressing a smile, you take the glass set in front of you and drain it quickly before gesturing for a refill. Tommy waves his hand at the barkeep.

“Get a bottle and bring it in the room.” he instructs, ushering you into the private area where he conducts business.

You follow behind him, silently thanking him as he pulls out a seat for you.

The two of you don’t say a word as he pours you another drink, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Thomas fucking Shelby.” you finally murmur, overcome with nostalgia. “How long has it been?”

Tommy gives a half shrug. “More than ten years, I’d say.”

“This yours?” you finally take a second to gaze about, impressed with the architecture. It felt like too beautiful of a place to be in Birmingham.

“More or less. It was a gift to Arthur.”

You grin. “A gift you didn’t buy.”

“A gift, nonetheless.” he takes a long drag of the cigarette, cautious as he blows the smoke out of his nose and in a direction that wasn’t facing you. “Heard about your uncle.”

You nod, posture stiffening. “May his soul rot.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows and his glass, downing his drink. “Cheers.”

“So,” you lean back in your seat. “What has Thomas Shelby been up to all these years?”

Tommy mimics your actions, scratching at his face. “Making business happen. Staying out of trouble.”

“You’re trying to be legal?” your curiosity piqued.

“Something like that.” He holds his arms out wide. “We’re expanding.”

“Into London. Fucking with the status quo there, I heard.”

Something in Tommy’s face hardens and he regards you with contempt. “Is that so?”

“It’s kind of my business to know. You are stepping into my turf. I don’t give a shit either way, this feud you have with the Italians is kind of good for business.”

“How?”

You take out a cigarette of your own, a long black cigarette holder accompanying it. Thomas doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he strikes a match, watching your mouth closely as you take a few drags. “People are far too concerned if there’s war coming to worry about women and their petty activities. Makes it easier to get into their pockets.”

“Did someone send you here?” He asks slowly, a tiny gun appearing on the table.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No. As I have mentioned, I’m not interested in whatever dick measuring contest you have going on with Sabini. I’m just a girl who came to dance on her dead uncle’s grave.”

Tommy can tell that you’re being honest. It was refreshing but strange, he wasn’t one to openly trust people. You were the one person who didn’t care about what he was doing in a sea of people who questioned his every move.

“Dick measuring contest, eh?”

You had been fucked well before, sometimes from other women but nothing compared to how well Thomas Shelby was fucking you now.

His home was modest, clean cut and devoid of character. You were currently bent over on his bed being hastily taken from behind. It was as if he had just returned home from the war, eager and hungry for a woman’s touch. He couldn’t get enough.

Tommy staggers backwards, tapping your ass to get your attention.

“Fucking come here.” he rasps out and you giggle as he moves papers off a desk in the corner, hauling you on top of it. You spread your legs so he could slot himself in between them, entering you again with no hesitation.

“Don’t step on my dress.” you moan out, crossing your legs along his back.

“That, shit, all you care about now?” Tommy hisses, placing a hand on your hip to keep you still.

You nod furiously, leaning your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You had already come undone twice and felt the third emerging soon.

“Fuck,” Tommy pants, taking his other hand and wrapping it around your throat. You loved the feeling of being choked and worked hard to memorize the touch of his fingers squeezing your skin. “I’ll buy you another dress. I’ll buy the fucking dress factory. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Tommy.” You tighten around his cock as you come again, causing him to groan and weaken his stamina. “I want you to give me everything I ask for.”

“What do you want, hm?” He questions, making sure to maintain eye contact with you. It was difficult to keep your eyes open but you’d be damned if you didn’t try.

“I want your cum, all of it. I want you to empty your balls,” you reach a hand down for added effect. “Into my cunt.”

And just like that, Tommy thrusts into you forcefully twice more before coming to completion. You both groan at the sensation, the trickling of his seed oozing out of you and down your thigh. He rests his head against your shoulder, breathing heavily. You allow your legs to go slack, wincing at how stiff they had gotten.

After a moment of rest, Tommy helps you into bed where the two of you take the time to decompress.

“You’re marked.” Thomas comments, trailing a finger down the scar on the back of your left shoulder. It was in the shape of the number four, a reminder of what - who - you belonged to.

Joining the Forty Elephants was an honest mistake. When you arrived and couldn’t secure a place on your own, you resorted to petty theft just like any other low class person in your position. It had been the wrong place at the wrong time. You slipped inside of a clothing store, hoping to pick up a few nice shirts so you could find a steady job that wasn’t walking the streets at night. Turns out the Forty Elephants were at the height of a heist and you barged right into the middle of it.

You were caught and arrested with three other women. You begged and pleaded with the police, urging them to believe you when you said you were acting out on your own. You were all jailed together and you spent the night getting the living daylights kicked out of you. The next morning, the four of you were released and you were handed off to the leader of the up and coming gang.

“Some fucking runt you are.” She spat, sizing you up. You were interrogated relentlessly, the boss lady, Mary, assuming you were sent in by a rival gang to screw them up on purpose. When you justified your case, she nodded. You were brought in, taken care of and most importantly, you were protected.

You made nice with the other girls and became a skilled pickpocket, lock picker and seductress. The nickname “duchess” came after you managed to lift a hefty sum, including a car, from a duke. It was then you elevated your style and sense of purpose. You began to educate yourself, investing in legal companies and stockpiling your wealth for a rainy day.

You knew that life with the Elephants wouldn’t last forever and you needed a way out when the time came.

“It was my initiation.” You tell Tommy, breath catching slightly as his touch made you shiver.

He hums, pressing a small kiss to it. “I saw you that night.”

You frown, flipping over on your side to face him. He invites you to lay closer and you gingerly accept his invitation, perching yourself on his chest. “What do you mean?”

Tommy takes another puff from his cigarette before answering. “When you left Birmingham. It was at night. I was taking a walk with my brothers, and saw you scrambling to get out of the house. You ran like a bat out of hell. Never looked back once.”

“Oh.” You look down at your fingers, absentmindedly stroking the tattoo on his chest. You take a second to formulate a response, unsure of how to answer after years of not speaking about it. Tommy doesn’t push, waiting patiently for an answer that may never come.

After a moment of silence, you give him one. “He said I reminded him of her. Before she died, he was cold and distant. Afterwards, it was as if I had taken her place. It wasn’t the first time it happened. I remember crying a lot after. But that night, for whatever reason, I was determined to make it the last.”

You swallow thickly, brows furrowed as you replay the scene in your head. “I waited on him. Nearly fell asleep but like clockwork, he came creeping in the wee hours of the morning. I managed to stab him five times before I got away.”

Maneuvering yourself out of Tommy’s arms, you straddle him instead, pinpointing all the places you cut your uncle.

“Twice here.” You tap at his right peck with your finger. “Once in the stomach, once in the arm and once on his shoulder. He was a big guy and it was as if it didn’t faze him. Killing him didn’t matter at that point, I just wanted to be gone. So, I ran. Everyday for years, I kept looking over my shoulder, sure that he was going to show up and try to take me home. I hated myself. He got to live out his life and I suffered because of him.”

The tears surprised you as they dripped down your cheeks, hot and constant. Tommy is bemused as he wipes them away, his face never changing. You always pondered on who Tommy really was and what went on underneath the mask he was wearing. Then again, perhaps there was no mask to begin with.

“It’s stupid, I know.” you continue, hurriedly swiping at your eyes.

“It’s not. You did what you needed to do, what you thought was right. No one can ever blame you for that.”

“Funny, coming from a Peaky Blinder.” you chide with a small grin.

“Even funnier, coming from an Elephant.” he retorts without wasting a breath.

You sigh, placing your hands against his broad chest. “Cut from the same cloth, are we?”

Tommy nods, setting the now stub of a cigarette out in the ashtray placed on the nightstand. He turns his attention back to you, mind racing as he studies your features. How he let you slip away, how he went years without seeking you out plagued him from time to time. You were elusive, a mirage of a seemingly perfect woman he shouldn't taint with his touch. You’ve grown into your features, personality blossoming. You weren’t subservient like many of the other women he had encountered, all who would bat their eyelashes at him in hopes that they would get picked to be with a real gangster.

“Stay. I have an opening in my office, we could use the help. You’d straighten out Arthur, no doubt.”

You scoff, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to be a guard dog or a bloody receptionist, Tommy. Besides, I’m expected back in London tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Family business.”

Tommy lights another cigarette at that.

“You could come with me. I wouldn’t force you to stay but maybe just to take your mind off of things?”

“Can’t. Family business.”

You laugh quietly, shrugging your shoulders. “What we wouldn’t do for those we love.”

The walk home from Tommy’s is uneventful, both basking in each other’s silence. It was comfortable and intimate, the only thing interrupting it was the sound of children out playing far too late and drunken men hurling commentary out at anyone that walked by them.

The folks of Brimingham were familiar with the Shelby’s but they aren't familiar with you which is how you became a prime target for unwanted advances. The man had to have been well beyond plastered, for any woman seen with Tommy was assumed to be his.

You couldn’t even understand half of what the agitated bloke was saying, just that he was making weird gestures with hands, pretending to jerk himself off. Others had attempted to warn him and even Tommy moved in for the kill but you stopped him.

“No, no. I want to hear what this lad has to say. What’s this then? You wanna have a go with me? Is this how you approach all the women you like?”

You feign boredom, sticking both hands in the pockets of your coat. You rummage around in your right pocket, discreetly slipping your fingers into the holes of a brass knuckle.

“Yeah, it is. Now, when you’re done with this half starved looking bastard, how about you come home with a real man who can fuck you until-”

Your movements were swift and graceful, as if you had done this a hundred times before. The knuckles smash into the poor man’s face, instantly cracking and breaking his nose. Tumbling onto the ground, you crouch over the drunkard and wail on him until splatters of blood dot your face like a painting.

Tommy watches as you all but kill this man with your bare hands and does absolutely nothing. His overwhelming glare warned the others to back off while you continued, the bystanders knowing what their fate could look like should they interfere.

Panting, you back off the guy, using your free hand to wipe at your face. You spit, step across the moaning body and proceed towards your lodgings as if nothing occurred. Tommy falls in step with you, offering a handkerchief which you accept. While the Forty Elephants appeared to be harmless with crimes of shoplifting and bribery, you had a more rampageous approach to it all. The streets of London had toughened you, like it or not.

At the end of the day, you needed to make sure that you could take care of yourself and if it meant taking another person’s life, so be it.

Tommy had never wanted you more. But nothing good could come out of the two of you being together, you both knew that. It would be similar to chaining two wild dogs together and expecting them not to bite each other's necks off when there’s only enough food for one.

You had the Elephants and London. He had Brimingham and the Blinders. Somewhere, you would meet in the middle but there wasn’t room for overlap. Tommy was sure that being wed to an Elephant meant more turf and control but he wouldn’t dare do that to you. He couldn’t do it to himself. He would come to you whenever he wanted and you’d do the same to him.

Rich straightens up upon seeing your silhouette, clasping his hands together in front of him obediently. He takes one look at your face and reaches inside his coat to grab his gun when you raise a hand out.

“S’alright. Just had a little accident. You know Tommy.”

Rich gives Tommy a once over before relaxing.

“Shall I see you inside, then?”

You gesture at Rich to go on ahead of you, planting yourself firmly in front of Thomas. “No, I think it’s better if we say our goodbyes out here.”

Tommy smiles briefly, lighting yet another cigarette. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust that I’ll make it back to London tomorrow if you do come up.”

He takes a small step towards you, jawline rigid as he exhales through his nose. “I could leave early, before you wake up.”

“I wouldn’t allow you to.” Plucking the flaming stick out his mouth, you press a wistful kiss to his lips, melting into his embrace as he deepens it.

Hesitant to pull away, you ease back reluctantly. Your hands smooth his across his coat, reaching upwards to tug at his beloved hat.

“When you’re in London, I expect a call.”

Thomas rests his forehead against yours, licking at his dried lips. “I’ll always make sure to pay the Duchess a visit.”

You peck his lips one last time before returning the cigarette. Tommy watches as you disappear inside the hotel, satisfied knowing that you were safe and back in your room. Doubling back to the Garrison, now in full swing for the night, he gets welcomed with a drink from John and a pat on the back from Arthur.

“Tell me brother, what’s it like to be with royalty, eh? Is her pussy made out of gold?” Arthur cracks himself up, thoroughly entertained by his own quip.

“Fuck off, Arthur.” Tommy says dryly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Did you tell her?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at John. “Tell her what?”

“About her fuckin’ uncle?”

Tommy doesn’t answer and the two brothers give each other a glance.

“Bloody hell, Tommy-” Arthur starts. Tommy raises a hand and waves him off.

“Of course I didn’t fucking tell her. All that matters is that he’s in the ground, eh? Now get me another bottle and stop whining in my fucking ear.”

Arthur is slow as he departs from his sibling, a lopsided smirk plaguing his face.

Tommy thinks to himself that maybe he should’ve mentioned how your uncle actually died. You were told that he had a nasty fall after a night out of heavy drinking. In reality, it was the Peaky Blinders doing. Not only was your uncle a piece of shit, he also had a gambling problem. He got mixed in with the wrong folks and unknowingly stole money from the Blinders to help pay off a gambling debt. He was sloppy in execution which caught the attention of Tommy.

Upon finding out who actually took his money, Tommy made it a personal mission to seek him out. The man, Ronald, folded like a chair when Tommy and the boys appeared on his doorstep. He cried and begged for mercy, which they showed him none. Especially not after he confessed what he had done to you.

Ronald knew you made it to London and had fallen into some money, so whenever he got into debt he just told people that you were wealthy and would deliver money for his payments. Even after you cut ties with him and tried to kill him, he proceeded to use you.

Tommy wouldn’t have it.

“Oi! Tommy!” Arthur returns with the bottle in hand. “You got any spare cash on ya? I wanna set up a quick date with Beatrice.”

Tommy looks at his brother with slight disdain and rolls his eyes. “I’m not your accountant.”

“Yeah, yeah. I left my wad back at the office. Just cough it up, would ya?”

“If it means I won’t have to look at your face anymore, fine.”

Tommy reaches inside his pants pocket where he normally keeps an emergency stack and finds it empty. Scowling, Tommy pats himself down extensively before the light bulb goes off.

He laughs.

Not a cheeky snicker or a lame jest. Thomas Shelby actually laughs.

Confused but willing to follow his brother anywhere, Arthur begins to laugh as well until they’re both hanging onto each other, gasping for air.

At the hotel, you answer the door to your room, thanking the bellboy for bringing up your dinner. Tucking a hand in your bra, a wad of cash spills out. You grab a handful of it and place it into the hand of the blushing young man. He stammers out a thank you, hightailing it back to the lobby.

You get comfortable in bed, eager to dive into the captivating spread laid out in front of you. Closing your eyes, you fold your hands in front of you in mock prayer.

“Thank you dear lord for this appetizing food and for the Peaky fucking Blinders. Amen.”

[ww2yaoi]

[I caved and started writing a webgott fic even though I'm 23 years late. this ground has definitely been traversed before but I'm an advocate for the webgott 2024 renaissance. here's a taste]

The war is over, and still, David and Joe are butting heads, velvet-shed antlers clashing like rival bucks during rutting season.

David’s not sure what he expected. He thought after the exultation of taking Berchtesgaden and raiding it of its liquour and silverware Joe might lighten up. He’d smiled so much that day, drank vintage champagne straight from the bottle, tore down Nazi flags and ripped them to ribbons. Something had broken in him at Landsberg, David knows that much, but he’d been hopeful that as the war tempered so too would Joe’s ire. Now he knows he’d been naive to think so.

Joe parks the Jeep outside the hotel where they’re billeted and wrestles the keys from the ignition. He climbs out and slams the door without another word, jump boots clomping against the cobblestones as he stalks away. David sits silently in the passenger’s side, Skinny’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head. He presses his lips into a thin line, sucks them between his teeth and bites down.

Captain Speirs had no right to give that order, least of all to Joe. They had no reason to keep fighting, no reason to dirty their hands when the old blood stains still linger. Leave that to the MPs and the military tribunals, their war was supposed to be over.

David gets out of the Jeep but decides not to follow after Joe. He knows the more he seeks Joe out, the more Joe will push him away. Instead, he walks, weaving through the streets of Zell am See, past shops and cafes and chalets all untouched by the ravages of war. Hitler’s home country, the birthplace of so much death and destruction, and it has the ersatz gloss of a resort town. The irony is not lost on David. He’ll write about it later if he gets the chance.

Birds chirp in the trees. Locals stroll past him, well-dressed in their spring clothes and chatting away jovially amongst themselves. They regard him without much fanfare, used to the sight of American soldiers by now. The water of Lake Zell is so blue it makes David’s eyes ache. He fishes his cigarettes from the pocket of his paratrooper jacket and slides one into his mouth, fiddling with his Zippo until the flame sparks and lights the tip.

The first inhale brings David back to the mountains, that cabin on the hill, chickens clucking in their pen. The hit of nicotine had done little to calm his nerves as Joe shouted at the kommandant in his Austrian-tinged German. David had just about jumped out of his skin when the shot rang out and the kommandant burst from the cabin, bleeding from his neck. Joe had bled from his neck in Holland. He has the scar to prove it. Sometimes, when they’re sitting side-by-side in the truck and Joe’s not looking, David will stare at it, curling his fist at his side to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing his thumb over the puckered skin.

He keeps walking, smoking his cigarette down to the filter. Eventually, he comes upon a church, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. The imposing wooden doors are open to let the tepid May air waft inside. David steps across the threshold and the piquant smell of incense hits his nose, olibanum and myrrh.

The church is empty except for a custodian sweeping the floor by the pulpit, but the man eventually disappears into a room at the back. David sits at the pew closest to the door, the knotty wood ungiving against his back. He admires the stained glass windows, cyan and crimson and gold with the pious faces of saints. The apses vault high above him, the air that rains down from the rafters drafty and filled with dust motes. It would be easy to imagine what this place would look like had the fighting swept through here, but David tries not to. It’s too beautiful a church for that kind of exercise.

David let his Catholicism lapse years ago, before the war even started really. His family was never that religious, only attending services on Christmas and Easter, but David prays now. He doesn’t go as far as kneeling on the tuffet or even interlocking his fingers, but pray he does, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment. He asks God, if there even is one, to take Joe’s pain and put it elsewhere, to spare him the anger and the hurt, the need for revenge that undoubtedly itches underneath his skin. He’s sure if Joe knew what he was doing, sitting here asking his Christian god to save a Jew, he would laugh in his face, but David’s not ashamed of it. If anything, he’s desperate. He’s not sure if Joe is ever going to speak to him again, even though he’s well aware that Joe tends to run hot only to cool back down a few days later.

Maybe this time is different though. Maybe this is what finally breaks the unsturdy bridge David has built between them since he missed Bastogne, possibly to the point of irreparability. He sits there, trying to parse what he feels. Perhaps it would be a relief to let their friendship shatter in his unwieldy hands. No more tiptoeing around Joe’s persistent bitterness, his bad moods that seem to bubble up with the slightest prodding. Then again, David doesn’t think it’d be a relief at all. He’s not even angry at Joe. If anything, he’s upset they’re still here after the Germans have surrendered, stuck cleaning up a mess that was never theirs in the first place.

Sometimes, David is so angry he forgets to breathe. Was he like this before the war? He can barely remember. Back at Harvard, he used to get heated in his classes, arguing passionately with his peers about Proust or Dostoevsky, but he knew how trivial it was even then. It was just a game he liked to play, something to make the hours he spent stuck in lecture halls go by faster. He doubts there’s anything he can do here to make the time pass quicker. There’s probably nothing Joe can do either.

With that, David gets up from the pew and exits the church. He steps back into the golden blare of the Austrian sunshine, headed towards Easy’s billet.

[allaboutyn]

seasons of you; arthur morgan × female reader

you are his spring, and he… he is your winter.

excerpt two:

“IS that your new neighbor?”  charles agreed to come help arthur with his horses, and harvest the vegetation, but all he’s done is stare at you as you’re tending to your garden in your old overalls.  arthur kinda wants to hit him. but all he does is hum in reply before turning to throw the hay into the barn.  “she’s pretty. does she live there by herself?” “i ain’t seen no one else goin’ in.” “damn. it’s such a big house.” arthur takes a moment to look over at you. he’ll admit — only to himself — how beautiful he truly believes you to be. gorgeous, even when you’re just in your overalls or running gear.  he sighs, leaning against the fork as he looks at charles, leaving the gate wide open without a second thought. “ya gonna help or jus stand there lookin’ pretty?”  before charles can laugh, and arthur makes a witty retort, one of his horses rushes past them and across the dirt road as she had done several times before. you can hear two men shouting over your headphones, and when you look up, you lock eyes with a large white and gray horse standing less than two feet away.  you hear arthur shout, the lasso swinging in his hands as he  “get over’ere, girl!”  arthur morgan is famous around town for his personality, and his wild horses. “grumpy ol’ arthur morgan” is what people call him. the local grocer warned you about him the moment the news got out that it was you who bought the house across the street. “arthur tends to scare off most of the people touring it so we never thought someone would buy it,” they had said and maybe that’s why you ended up buying it — because you never had a physical tour of it, only a video tour and the virtual ones they offer online. you couldn’t get out long enough for it to not look suspicious.  people constantly ask you about it when you’re at work, and it’s funny because the elderly people try to set the two of you up and you like to show them the renovation work you’ve done by showing them photos, but the gossipy women that come in just make it annoying by asking about him all the time. you don’t know how to tell them that you’ve only ever had one conversation with him, so you just nod and smile when they talk, hoping they go away.  at first, you weren’t even sure who they were talking about, since arthur never introduced himself, even after you brought him brownies, but eventually, it just got easier to figure it out. there’s only one man around town that wears a black, worn down leather cowboy hat that you’ve seen.  the horse gets closer. as fearful as you are of the majestic creatures, you try your best to keep yourself calm, holding your trembling hand out for her to sniff the apple before eating the apple, giving arthur the chance to lasso her neck.  “thank yew.” tipping his hat, he walks off with the filly, and the man who had been beside him also tips his hat to you before leaving.  “i think she’s scared of horses,” charles whispers as the two get closer to the cowboy’s home.

[eoieopda]

the one with seokjin, soju, and all the stars in the sky

Requested by Anon: Kim Seokjin got really drunk on a members-night-out, so his fiancée has to pick his cute, clingy ass up. ft. late-night wake-ups, gn!reader, and a lot of feelings about science. A/N: I accidentally deleted the draft associated with this ask, so now it's a separate post. Sorry for the wait, anon!

When Seokjin left for the evening, he'd placed a kiss on your forehead and a new book in your hands.

The novel in question was some obscure, independently published thing Namjoon had recommended. You'd mentioned it to Seokjin in passing — weeks ago — but hadn't had the downtime to seek it out since. Even if you had somehow carved out a moment to scour the local bookshops, you wouldn't have had the spare hours to immerse yourself in it the way you'd want to.

Not enough to meaningfully discuss its themes with Namjoon, anyway.

But Seokjin was Seokjin. He'd made some secret, mental note about what you said; hunted down that old single-edition book; and come up with a reason to spend his Saturday night elsewhere. He and his friends would get dinner and drinks — you'd get an overdue bubble bath and the solitude necessary to study for your unofficial, impromptu, two-member book club.

And that's precisely how you'd spent your night before tucking yourself into bed at the beautifully reasonable hour of half-past nine.

When your phone went off four hours later, you thought you were dreaming. You squinted at the screen for so long, trying to wrap your brain around the contact information blaring into your bleary eyes, that you almost failed to answer.

"Namjoon?" You croaked, throwing an arm over your eyes to hide from the offensive lamp light beaming off your bedside table. "I'm gonna need, like, a liter of coffee before I can wax poetic about the —"

"Hey, noona, it's Namjoon-ah!" He cut you off before you could finish. If the delayed, rhyming introduction didn't tip you off, the snorting, self-inflicted laughter would have.

Kim Namjoon, the designated dad of the friend group, was irrefutably ripped, zipped, and zooted.

You scrubbed your hand over your face in a futile attempt to stop your forming grin in its tracks. "Your picture popping up on my phone told me as much," You chuckled through your exhaustion, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this wake-up call?"

You heard him shout geonbae and gulp down some sort of shot before he provided you with an answer.

"Sojin has entered the chat," He announced with an absurd, deepened voice. Immediately, he cackled, "Get it? It's a portmanteau of soju and Seokjin, who is shitfaced — anyways, can you come get your man?"

It took you five minutes to throw on clothes and shuffle out the door to your car. The drive to the bar took only slightly longer, though it was the traffic lights and not the distance that slowed you down.

Unfortunately, twenty years came and went while you tackled the dreaded, subsequent task: parallel fucking parking.

The stress of it all nearly had you sweating by the time you entered the bar — you'd be hearing all that judgmental honking in your sleep, once you got back to it — but it all evaporated the second you saw Seokjin.

Off in the far corner, he sat on the outer half of a bench. Trapped inside that booth, visibly waiting for the sweet release of death, was Min Yoongi. You couldn't make out the details of that predominantly one-sided conversation, but you could tell by Seokjin's wild gesticulating and pink-tipped ears that he was ranting about something.

Bits and pieces fell into place as you made your away over, but no part of the overheard conversation made much sense to you.

Seokjin hiccupped, "I've said it once and I'll s-say it again —"

"— Hyung, I guarantee you've said it way more than once —" Yoongi attempted to interject, but he was quickly silenced by more of Seokjin's animated hand-waving.

"— Magic. It's magic, Yoongi. I'm tell — I'm telling you, man. There's just — hic — Science is stupid. I don't care about it, you know? And do you want — you wanna know why, Yoongi? Well, I'll t-tell you why —"

As he blinked emphatically at Yoongi, Seokjin must've somehow sensed you across the bar. He stopped dead in the middle of his unsolicited dissertation, wide-eyed with his jaw dropped, and gasped, "Baby!"

Before you could physically brace yourself for impact, he'd launched his clumsy frame out of his seat and collected you in his arms. Within seconds, without time to blink, his warm cheek was smushed against yours. Plush lips fluttered near your ear as he mumbled, "I missed you."

Of course, it'd only been a few hours since he last saw you, but he held you like you'd just returned from years at sea. Breathing deeply and contentedly, likely taking in the scent of your shampoo. Gently clutching the fabric of your jacket in his hands as if you'd float away otherwise. You had no desire whatsoever to burst that perfect, loving bubble, so you simply squeezed him tighter and told him that you'd missed him more.

Over his shoulder, you saw relief wash over Yoongi's face. No longer held hostage, he scooted himself out of the booth and immediately twisted in place to crack his back.

How long had he been stuck in there?

"Thank fuck," Yoongi sighed as he proceeded to crack his neck. He rolled his shoulders while answered the question you were about to ask, "Twenty entire minutes. Barely paused long enough to breathe, so I thought, shit — what if he dies here? I was scared I'd have to spend the rest of my days in this booth."

Seokjin, who still hadn't untangled himself from you, simply giggled. With his cheek remaining flush to yours, you could feel him grinning. He offered nothing whatsoever in his own defense, so Yoongi waved at you and turned to head off towards the restrooms.

You called out after him, prompting him to turn around. "What's so stupid about science?"

Yoongi's mouth stretched into a straight line across the entire bottom half of his face; his eyes narrowed to match. He heaved yet another sigh, gestured languidly to the half-cut fiancée clinging to you like a vest, and smirked, "He's convinced you hung the stars in the sky."

You would've melted into a puddle on the spot, but then Seokjin piped up and promptly shot your unsuspecting, lovestruck heart over the moon instead.

Abruptly changing the subject, he whispered — suddenly serious, as if it was the most important question in the world:

"Did you like the book, baby?"

[64yrsold]

give yourself a try!!

“C’mon, darling, it’ll be worth it,” I ushered him into the crowded venue, the band already filling the room with distorted noise.

“This is… Baby, is there enough room for us?” he scratched the back of his head anxiously, reaching for my hand out of habit.

“Sure there is,” I gave him a grin and a squeeze, and his eyebrows unknotted, “Humour me. I used to come here with my friends back in uni, remember?”

“Alright,” he gave in, letting me pull him to the bar.

I waved to the bartender, “Two ciders, please.”

“A cider?” he questioned in my ear, trying to speak above the band.

“It’s local,” I shrugged, “Nostalgic.” He didn’t seem convinced. He eyed up the stage, a glow in his eyes I was familiar with. I paid for the drinks while he was distracted, trying not to wince at the gouge to my bank account.

“This kid on the drums,” he popped his chin toward the drummer, who was madly flailing with perfect rhythm, “Fucking fantastic.”

“Maybe you can ask for some tips after the show,” I smirked, passing him the glass of amber gold.

“I actually would,” he looked at me seriously, taking a long sip. He hummed, looking at the glass closely, “This is nice.”

“Come on, I want to get closer,” I wrapped my hand around his wrist, holding my drink away from incoming elbows and shoulders.

“We’re alright here, aren’t we?” he squeaked behind me, but let me pull him a bit farther.

“Look, now you can actually see the band,” I grinned, settling into an empty corner.

“Well, I could see them back there,” he muttered, “Tall enough.” He let another long sip of cider slide down his throat. I tried to keep pace with him, finishing the glass once the first song had ended.

“Oh my God,” I shrieked, turning to him with wide eyes. He mirrored my expression, smiling softly at my excitement. “This song could bring me back to life.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “You’ve never said that about my songs.”

“Sure I have,” I frowned, and gave him a quick kiss as a distraction. He tasted sweet, like apples and mint. He wrapped an arm around my waist, letting me rest my hot cheek on his leather shoulder. He held me steady as I swayed and nodded to the music, squeezing my hip and laughing when I got a bit too excited. He moved to stand behind me as someone pushed past us, throwing his arms over my shoulders to press my back to his chest.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered in my ear, kissing my jaw.

“What?” I said, ears overwhelmed with the droning bass and splintering snare. I looked back to find him grinning.

“You’re fucking gorgeous!” he shouted, picking me up off of the ground momentarily. This sent me into a fit of giggles, throwing my head back against him as he buried kisses in my neck. “One more drink, darling?”

“I can’t say no,” I smiled, letting him guide me through the mass of drunken strangers this time.

“Two more ciders, if you can,” he called to the bartender, pulling out his credit card. His mouth popped open with realization, and he looked at me sternly, “Did you pay last time?” I only shrugged. He sighed, turning to the bartender again, “Get us two shots of vodka as well.”

“It’s nice to treat you sometimes,” I leaned against the bar, looking up at him. He was contrast personified, the slick leather jacket hanging off his sweet, sugar skin. His soft, loose curls tumbling forward over his furrowed brow, hiding dark eyes and emphasizing his pretty pink mouth.

“Ah, sweetheart, you don’t understand,” he pressed a thumb into my red cheek, “You treat me just by keeping me company. Alright?”

“Alright,” I rolled my eyes, letting him pinch my chin. He handed me a shot and a cider, thanking the bartender, then giving him a serious look, “Don’t let this one pay for anything, yeah?”

The bartender shrugged, turning away.

“Cheers, baby,” I grinned, clinking our shot glasses together and downing the vodka. I winced, then laughed at his sour expression.

“Really doesn’t taste better as you get older,” he grimaced, then looped an arm around me to move us away from the bar. He leaned against a wall, pulling me against his chest. We listened quietly, sipping cider as another song passed by. He kissed the top of my head absently, humming harmonies and drumming his fingers into the middle of my back. I finished my glass as he finished his, setting them on a sticky table. The next song was gentle, a soothing melody which had me sighing against him.

“Could I have this dance, miss?” he mumbled into my ear, dropping a hand to grasp mine.

“I’d be honoured,” I curtsied, making him release a heavy laugh. He turned me into a spin, mouth open and grinning as he looked down our outstretched arms to meet my eyes. He pulled me in, catching me with a hand at my hip, pressing his hips to mine. He pulled my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles before laying my hand on his chest.

“I can hear your heart from here,” he smirked, tongue pushing into his cheek. “You don’t hide it very well.” He trailed his fingertips along my collarbone, placing his palm flush to the left side of my chest.

“Yours is practically beating out of your chest,” I teased, tapping my finger against his heaving chest, “You tired, old man?”

“Careful,” he licked his bottom lip, eyes jumping between my mouth and needy eyes.

“Poor thing,” I pouted, “All out of stamina. Just from a little dancing.”

His laughed dryly, “Sure.” He took my hand again, guiding me into another slow spin. I giggled, throwing my arm over his head to spin him once. He grinned as he turned, eager to meet my eyes again. He caught my other hand, pushing us apart, then pulling us together. He lowered his hands around my waist, and I pressed my head to his chest. We swung slowly to the rhythm, the room feeling emptier with each sway.

I peeked up at him, “You’re so pretty.”

“Aw, darling,” he nearly blushed, kissing my forehead, “You’re glowing.”

“I think I’m a little drunk,” I laughed, head tilted back to wait for a kiss.

“I’ve told you to stop trying to keep up with me,” he shook his head, tongue peeking out from between his teeth, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.”

“You gonna take me home?” I asked as he dipped to meet my lips. He kissed me, his mouth feeling like a promise.

“If you’d like.”

“I’d like,” I smiled as the song ended with a flourish. He gave the band an encouraging shout, his hands too busy to clap.

“Let’s get out of here,” he brushed a thumb over my cheek, eyes heavy as he pressed a kissed to my mouth, “Fast as we can."

//

[safyresky]

Grand Tour

Part I

"Pygmys."

"Pygmys?"

"Pygmys. They're fascinating little creatures!" The Prince tapped the glass of the jar he held in his hand. A fluffy little spike ball jumped a bit, spindly legs going wide as it ran all over the jar. "They travel in a big cloud and wreak havoc. They don't mean to, of course. They're just surviving. As we all are. But they do have a tendency to clump and stick to things and they do not come off that easy. We don't have these at the castle! The name is most definitely localized. It'll be exciting to study these closely and—"

"WAIT. THEY WHAT?"

The Prince frowned, turning around and shouting back at the farmer's fields. "THEY STICK."

"OH. WELL THAT EXPLAINS A LOT." The other Prince came around the corner of the farmer's shed, hopping on one foot, covered in pygmys. "Great news, Pyros, Jeremiah. I think I got them all."

"And they're going to eat right through your armour, Blaise. Marvin's going to kill you, you know."

"Not if my twin brother helps me out before then!"

Pyros tried very hard to look stern. He really, really, did. But they'd been travelling cross country for almost a month now and he was feeling quite good being away from home and Blaise looked really very funny with that monstrous big grin of his and he was going to be able to study a creature he could never get his hands on all cooped up inside the castle, so the smile did not slip out so much as it did explode across his face. He laughed to himself, waiting for Blaise to hop right beside him before summoning his staff. Mumbling to himself, he drew a few shapes around his brother, tapped the jar-ed pygmy with the top of his staff, and, once the jewel glowed, tapped the tip of Blaise's armoured foot. The Pygmys flew right off him.

"There we go! Better?"

"Much," Blaise grinned, summoning his own staff. Quickly drawing a circle in the ground he struck his staff in the middle of it. The Pygmys suddenly stopped bouncing around and were pulled into the circle, light stretching up around the perimeter and successfully trapping the sticky little fuzzy creatures within.

"Hmm. Nice. Think that'll hold for the night? I should be able to figure out how to dispose of them by the morning."

"Yeah, it'll hold. And we could always just. Y'know. Relocate them. We don't need to destroy them."

"Blaise, they're pests."

"Maybe they're useful somewhere else! Away from the crops and groves and what have you—"

"AHH! Your HIGHNESSESS!!"

Pyros looked appalled. "Is he calling the both of us? Really?"

Blaise snickered. "Hey, Marvin!" he said, eye contact with Pyros unbroken.

"No no no no NO don't you HEY MARVIN me, Prince Blaise. LOOK at the STATE of the two of you!" The angry drow thrust his hands out at them, face a deeper than usual shade of purple as he caught his breath. "Your armour is COVERED in some sticky substance and WHERE are your surcoats? Tippet? Robes?" He whirled, glaring at Pyros now, arms on his hips. "And YOU, Prince Pyros. WHERE is your ARMOUR?"

Both boys protested, both insisting they did not need the bits they were missing.

"Look, Marv, I've got the armour and Pyros has the robes and surcoats and royal colours so I think we're fine. I mean, between the two of us you have a whole dressed prince!" He grinned, throwing his arm over the drow's shoulders and bringing him in close.

The drow gulped, ducking a bit to avoid the fiery mess that was Prince Blaise's hair. "Your parents will have my head if I don't keep you shipshape and safe and that INCLUDES properly armed AND clean!"

"Marvin, please," Pyros said, raising a hand to placate. "Between the two of us, we'll be fine. We're both nearly masters at the warlock craft—some of us more so than others—and we do have our innate summer sprite lineage at our disposal as well."

"Which some of us excel in, more so than others."

"More so than others—"

Blaise stuck out his tongue with a very immature mlem.

Pyros returned the favour in kind, with a MLEM of his own.

"BOYS! This is really very unbecoming of the both of you—"

Pyros rolled his eyes as Blaise waved carelessly in the air with a very passionate, "Pish, posh."

"What? Pish posh?" Pyros looked perplexed. "Really? Where on Earth—"

"Winter."

"Of course."

"What? It's a fun turn of phrase!"

"You know, you are smitten with that season—"

"BOYS."

"Marv."

"Marvin."

Marvin closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. He inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Pressed his fingers together one by one before opening his eyes. "Prince Blaise. Prince Pyros. I really must insist—"

"We're fine, Marvin! Really. Look, I'll clean the sticky off in a snap!" And he did just that. Blaise snapped his fingers, the sticky residue left from the Pygmies peeling off of his armour and disappearing into thin air, the armour itself looking freshly polished. "Boom."

"You still aren't wearing—"

"And I'm not going to! Just like Pyros isn't going to wear the armour!"

"It'll only impede my evening's work."

Marvin wrinkled his nose. He looked like he wanted to protest. "Fine. If you insist."

"And oh but we do!"

"Really and truly. I assure you, we will be just fine. You're dismissed, Marvin."

"Yeah, go enjoy the sights! We don't get to go out often, y'know."

Marvin's nose somehow wrinkled even more. "Very well."

Hands still clasped, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the royal entourage, immediately barking orders and dispersing them throughout the town.

"He's going to kill us."

"Oh yeah. One of these days, for sure. But that's a problem for later! For now, you've got fuzzballs to study, and I've got several other tenants to check in with. Unless you want to join—"

"Absolutely not, thanks. Jeremiah, if you wouldn't mind directing me to your local castor? Prisma, I believe is the name?"

"Sure, your highness. Big tower up the street. Very purple. Can't miss it."

"Much obliged. Blaise, I believe we'll have to stay overnight."

"I'll get Marv on it."

"Shout if he tries to kill you," Pyros said, heading down the path.

"He'll shout louder!"

Pyros laughed, turning at the gate and heading up the street.

Blaise watched him go, chuckling to himself. "Ah. I'd say poor Marv, but he makes it too easy. Anything else you need our assistance with, Jeremiah?"

"Well, there is one thing. It's not so much an assist more so as it is a concern. I'd take it to an audience day but uh, I don't often make it up your way."

Blaise smiled warmly. "Sure. What's up?"

"Well, ah. Your Majes-ah, Highness. Sorry, sorry. I mean no offence, I just—the titles—I—"

Blaise held up a hand. "Don't worry. Just Blaise is fine."

Jeremiah paled. "Are you certain?"

"The only people who care about titles are the King and Queen and Pyros and Marv and they are all not here so yes, I'm positive."

The magibean gulped. "Well, ah, Blaise." The corners of his mouth twitched; Blaise grinned. "I hope you don't take offence to this—"

"Why would I?"

"It's about her snowiness. I don't want to impose or, or suggest anything bad or untoward or—"

Blaise tensed. "Is she okay?"

"Ah, I imagine so, yes. I've not heard anything otherwise. It's just...the crops have been freezing."

"Pardon?"

"Every morning I've woken up and the crops have been lightly frosted. I would've attributed it to the East's natural tendency to frost over, on occasion, but that seemed illogical given the time of year...and then I saw her."

"Who?"

"The Season."

"Winter."

Jeremiah nodded. He wrung his hat in his hands, swallowed with an audible gulp. "Um. Every night. Around the same time. She appears just on the edge o'er there," he gestured vaguely to the farthest reaches of his fields. "She lingers for a bit. And then leaves. And every time I go out afterwards, everything is frosty. And it lasts through to the morning. It melts with the sun, but the frost isn't good for the crops and I can't afford any loss—"

Blaise held up a hand. The farmer stopped abruptly, his heart racing, breathing heavily.

"Have you talked to her?"

"Talked? To a SEASON?" Jeremiah blanched. "I'm just a mere farmer, I could never—"

"She's very friendly. Frosty exterior aside."

"Well, Prince Blaise, if it's not out of turn for me to say...you can interact with her. I cannot."

"Why not? I'm sure she'd stay and chat. She's one of Mother Nature's seasons, she won't ignore you if you have a concern—"

The farmer cleared his throat. "Castes, Your Majesty. Ah, Highness. Sorry."

"Blaise. Just Blaise."

"Right. Well. Being what you are—"

"A sprite?"

"A prince."

"Oh! Oh. Right."

"You travel the same circles as her, as it were. It's normal for you to just. Walk up to a season and talk to her. But not for farmers like me."

Blaise's shoulders dropped. His hair died down. "Oh."

"I'm sorry, Blaise, I didn't mean to—"

"Ah, don't worry about it!" He perked back up, the brief moment of sadness gone as fast as it came on. It was enough to give Jeremiah whiplash. "Every night, you said?"

Jeremiah nodded.

"Perfect. Tell you what. If you wouldn't mind running over to Marv and letting him know as fancily as possible that Pyros and I have decided to stay the night here, and to make preparations. Y'know. Station guards wherever, find us some nice lodgings—"

"Oh! Okay, sure! So something like," he cleared his throat, straightening his posture and holding his hat behind his back. "The Princes have decided to stay overnight. Prince Blaise has asked me to ask you to make whatever preparations you see fit to, and to procure lodgings for them for the night. Like that?"

"PERFECT! Thanks, Jerry." Blaise clapped his arm, grinning. "And while you do that, I'll gather up the rest of the Pygmys for Pyros, and tonight I'll stake out your fields! If Winter comes by, I'll talk to her and see if I can figure out the frost for you."

Jeremiah brightened. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"It's just...you're so hands on! The King isn't. We usually have to wait a few days before the appropriate measures are taken for various issues. You and your brother tackle them right away! It's not—it's unexpected. And, um, to besmirch the character of a Season in front of a royal?"

"Besmirch?" Blaise laughed. "Nah, you're just concerned, is all. And I appreciate you telling me. I'll get it sorted, don't you worry. I'm sure it's nothing."

Jeremiah nodded. "I'm sure you're right."

---

Lodgings set for the night and Pyros hard at work with the local castor, Blaise set himself up at the farthest reaches of Jeremiah's fields, watching the sun fade and the night creep in. The sky was clear as can be, a crisp chill in the air if his visible breath was anything to go off of.

Stars shone brilliantly. Blaise lay between the wheat stalks, hands behind his head, watching the stars as the night grew later still. Hair out, he was surrounded by darkness, enjoying the rare moment of silence and beauty.

Sure, they had stars at the castle. But it was never completely dark. There were always lanterns lit and soldiers marching about, armoured heavily compared to Blaise. There was so much world beyond the castle, and he loved the quarterly outings the King and Queen had the pair of them undertaking, despite knowing full well the reasoning behind it.

After all, he and Pyros were approaching eighteen-hundred. They were well past the age of majority and neither ruler had deemed who would be next in line yet, and it was coming up fast. It was obvious to him that they were trying to keep the two of them out of the way of their decision making. Especially with how Pyros kept asking. And how he himself kept not asking. In fact, Blaise was avoiding the topic entirely. It was clear as the night sky to him that they'd been sent out to give the King and Queen a break, or to test the pair of them, or maybe even both.

He tried not to think about it too much; tried not to bring it up. Pyros got all weird about it, and he'd missed his brother lately. See, going into the advanced studies with the Queen had been...

Intense.

Yeah.

It was intense.

Pyros had doubled down his already double-downed practise and study routine and they didn't get to hang out as often anymore. Not until they'd been assigned to do these outings. And Pyros had been all weird at first, but as their time out grew, his weirdness seemed to disappear, and things felt almost normal which was a very nice change as things were feeling very not normal back at the castle as of late and Blaise Did Not Care For It.

Deep breaths, he told himself. We're not home right now. We're out and about. Just enjoy the night. And also maybe keep an ear out, like you told Jeremiah you would.

His breathing evened out (he hadn't even realized it'd started speeding up) and he cast his gaze back up at the sky, watching the stars twinkle as the planet turned, the cosmic dust coming into view high above him. He sighed, smiling up at the sky, when suddenly a pale, round face obstructed his view, white tendrils of hair framing her flushed cheeks, blue eyes lit up.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?"

"It just got even prettier, if you'll believe it."

She snorted, her head snapping back up—but not before Blaise caught the silly little grin. With one of his own, he sat up, staring up at the season before him.

"Ever the flatterer."

"You love it."

"I don't recall saying that."

Blaise smirked, bringing up a knee. He rested his elbow on it, holding his head in his hand. "You don't need to."

A delicate hand came up, blocking her mouth as she let out a little laugh.

Armour clanking, Blaise stood up, blinking briefly when he realized she was a lot farther down than he remembered.

"Why are you so small?"

She snorted. "I believe it's because you have gotten tall. Er. Still. I'm going to throw out my neck at the rate you're going, Blaise—er, your highness."

"No need for that! It's just us, Winter."

"Oh! Good! In that case!" She shifted, adopting her regal stance, folding her hands in front of her dress. "Blaise. What on Earth are you doing laying in the fields this far east and this late at night?!"

"Waiting for you, actually."

The Season flushed, her posture relaxing. "Oh! That's sweet. Unless I'm in trouble, of course." She paused for a moment, curiosity overtaking the flush. "You'd sneak out for me?"

"I mean, if you asked, probably! But I'm not sneaking around. It's, uh, the quarterly check in."

"Already?"

"Well, it has been three months since the last one."

"Good heavens. Time certainly flies, doesn't it?"

"It would seem so, but you know, I've never asked. Does he?"

"You know, I'm not quite sure! I've never thought to ask either. Perhaps Mother knows?"

"Maybe. You should ask her."

"I'll forward that to management. Right! Now then! You haven't answered my question. What are you doing laid out in the fields this late at night?"

"Waiting for you."

She blinked, dumbstruck. "You were serious?"

"Well, yeah!" Blaise chuckled. He ran a hand through his hair, sparks trailing behind him as it lit up. He took a moment to admire the way the firelight played on her face. There were angles at play, breaking through the childhood roundness. He wasn't the only one who'd grown, it seemed.

"Blaise? Earth to his highness? You there?"

"Yes! Right." He cleared his throat. "Jeremiah—the tenant who lives here? He had a bit of a concern he brought up earlier today when we rolled into town. Apparently his crops are frosting over every night, and though it melts during the day, he's concerned about the long term exposure effects. He thought it was you doing it. Says you've been stopping by every night?"

"Indeed I have! But not for the reason he thinks. Actually, this is great timing because I have a concern to raise with you."

"Oh?"

"It's about Jeremiah's crops. They're frosting over!"

Blaise snorted. "You don't say?"

She nodded, giggling quietly to herself. "Come along, your highness. I'll show you. Right this way!" And without waiting for him to reply, Winter grabbed his hand and led (dragged) him to the corner of the field Jeremiah had pointed out earlier that day. She pulled him down, the pair squatting in the stalks, staring at the wheat. She let go, keeping her hands above her shoulders and maintaining eye contact. "See how my hands are way up here?"

Blaise nodded.

"Right. Well. Look at the wheat."

Blaise did, and immediately found himself frowning as frost crept over the sheaths, tickling the very tops of the plants and settling in for the night. It stretched on, right through the entirety of the field. He glanced back over at Winter: hands still up; no obvious magical signature showing. He felt the magic in the air around them. Her magical signature was not pulling at the threads.

It wasn't her.

"So that shouldn't be doing that."

"What's worse is it won't listen to me."

"What?"

"Watch."

Winter stood up, the heads of the wheat tickling her elbows. Her hands took on a white glow as she pulled them back, and the frost stayed perfectly comfortable on the spikes of the wheat. She gestured towards it violently, the white glow gone, the most frustrated pout on her face. "See?"

"That's really weird. I thought all frost and snow and wintry stuff listened to you?"

"Ah, but even we seasons have our limits. Sometimes nature takes its course and we let it do so. Mother Nature says that perhaps this is one of those times; perhaps nature is trying to tell us something."

"So why doesn't she just tell you straight up?"

"I think she's using it as a lesson. Anyway, I've started my nightly rounds here every day for the past few weeks, trying to see if I can make the frost go away, but nothing I do seems to work! So I looked closely at the pattern, and though the frost is mirroring the shapes of the wheat, there's a slight little group of curls that look quite similar to the pattern that usually resides within the frost in the Snowy Lands to the North of here."

"But it would only be doing that if the crops were on Northern holdings."

"Precisely. I think the current land holder is committing a spot of encroachment. I haven't had a chance to look further into it, but given the facts..."

"It seems likely the land Jerry's using for this year's harvest is actually in the North and not the East."

"Exactly. And I don't think Jerry knows this! I think the Lord here is trying to keep it on the down low." She squinted for a moment. "Leo? Zeo? Neo! That's the one. Bit of a prick, if I recall correctly."

Blaise snorted. "Checks out. He's always complaining about his holdings when we host court." Blaise rubbed his chin. "If he's trying to gain more land, he'll want to do it quietly and carefully. The royal surveyors are the best at their jobs. It would take quite a bit to trick them."

"Precisely. And! We are fairly close to the border right now! The town beyond here is a hub where denizens from both the North and East meet up, do business, and so on. If you played your pieces right, it could be a fairly easy point to start growing your holdings illicitly. Especially since the North is so sparsely populated."

Blaise continued to rub his chin. "That's a hefty accusation."

"Indeed. But it has merit. If you look at the other half of the field, the one that's closer to his farmstead, the crops there are all fine. Not a single bit of frost on there."

"Hmm. Interesting." Blaise stopped rubbing his chin. "I suppose I should go take a look." He smiled softly at her and held out an arm. "Walk with me?"

Winter blinked up at him in surprise. "Oh! Ah, certainly."

She carefully grabbed his arm, her cool touch frosting the burnished metal of his armour. Careful to weave between the rows (least they accidentally crush the wheat), they made their way over to the other side of the fields, where sure enough, not a smidgen of frost graced the stalks.

"See?"

"Huh. That's...okay. I mean. It's not okay, obviously, but I didn't think "land stealing conspiracy" would be on the list this fast."

"But you expected it?"

"It wouldn't of surprised me. At any rate, I'll have to work on this after the check in." He rubbed his chin again. "And I'll have to figure something out for the short term."

"Perhaps, in the interim, there's something I can do to help? I'm sure one of my sisters can move the wheat consequence free while you get this sorted. This way Jeremiah doesn't have any loss? Lady knows what Neo would do if he knew we were on to him."

Blaise's hand stilled. "Oh? You think your sisters would be able to do that?"

"Oh, please. They have this very strange soft spot for me. They would quite literally do anything for me."

"Even Spring?"

"...sometimes. And if not, I can be, ah, very persuasive."

Blaise laughed. "I believe it. Are you feeling okay?"

"Quite all right. Why do you ask?"

"Your hair is melting."

She flushed, her free hand reaching up and touching her very thawed roots. "Oh! Well. That happens sometimes."

"Oh?"

"Yours is literally on fire. And I've been near you for a good moment now."

"I see," Blaise replied. (He did not, in fact, see).

"I'm sure you do. Now, you don't think it's too late to talk to Jeremiah, do you? I'd like to apologize to him and let him know one of us seasons will be on it post haste. He and his family are probably asleep, though, aren't they?"

"We'll go take a gander. He said he'd been seeing you these past few nights, so I wouldn't be surprised if he was still up."

"Very well." Winter tightened her hold on his arm. "Lead the way."

Seconds after they came into view of the small house, Jeremiah popped out the back door, clicking it shut quietly behind him, candle in his hand. "Your Highness! And Your Snowiness!" Frazzled, he bowed twice, his hair nearly catching fire.

"Oh, no need for formality, really. It's much too late in the night for that. And pardon my intrusion. I hope I didn't wake you?"

"No, of course not your, uh. Season-y-ness."

"Just Winter is fine, please. Don't fret. Sorry for the crop fright. I've touched base with Prince Blaise," she gestured towards him, as though her hand wasn't still looped around his arm. "And we think we've figured out the issue. It's all a little hush hush right now, and we'd both appreciate your discretion."

"Of course. Whatever you need."

"Now! In the interim! About your crops! Unfortunately I cannot control the frost that seems to have made itself cozy in your fields. But! My sisters can control the wheat! I'll talk to them and we'll be by in the next week or so to move the crops over to a portion of land that is not being assailed by frost."

"Oh, well, that sounds nice and all, but the unplanted fields are to remain fallow this year, y'know, to replenish the soil and the. And the like." He scratched the top of his head nervously.

"Oh, I'm familiar with the idea, yes. Of course, my sisters are more well versed in it and my mother is, of course, the expert. We can take care of replenishing the soil just this once while we work on the frosty problem back there."

"Really?"

"Of course! Our duty is to maintain balance and help the people, sir. You are one of those people."

"But I'm just a farmer—"

"Ah, pish posh! You are a denizen of Crystal Springs same as any of us, castes be damned."

Blaise guffawed. Jeremiah blanched.

"Does that work for you, Jeremiah? And would your highness be alright with this arrangement?"

"I believe Jeremiah's fields actually supply the castle, too, so yes, absolutely. This'll give me some time to confer with the King and Queen and see if we can get to the bottom of the land issue."

"Then that's settled! Jeremiah, I will be in touch. You best be off now. It's late and you have kids, do you not?"

"Yes ma'am. Two. Very little, quite rambunctious. Give the wife and I a run for our money some days."

Winter laughed. "Then you best be getting some rest. Worry not." She placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "The Seasons and I will take care of your crop issue, okay?"

He nodded, stifling a yawn. "Yes ma'am."

"And really, just Winter is fine. Now then! Off you go!"

Nodding once more, Jeremiah turned around, letting out a proper yawn as he made his way back inside the house. The pair waited for a moment until the final light glowing in the back of the house went out.

Winter hummed. "That takes care of that, then."

"You are a very impressive woman. Have I ever told you that?"

"Haven't the foggiest," she lied, smiling up at him coyly. "I do apologize for taking charge their, ah, your highness."

"Pfft. Don't! Please. I…it’s nice to not have to be all formal and what have you. Can I escort you anywhere?"

"No, I best be off. I've only just started my rounds, you know! There's a whole half of the globe waiting for me tonight beyond these healing waters."

"Globe?"

"Yes. My job takes me all over it, Blaise."

"Huh. I guess it would, wouldn't it? I just...I never really thought about it, you know?"

Winter watched as Blaise looked thoughtful. Smiling to herself, she let out another little hum, tugging on the arm she still held captive. "Perhaps I can escort you to your lodgings for the night?"

"Oh, no need! But I'd ah, appreciate the fine company on the walk."

"Lead the way, then. And do elaborate, if you please."

"Elaborate? How?"

"You've never thought of the world beyond Crystal Springs? Ever? At all?"

They took the path that Pyros had trodden hours earlier, heading straight into the heart of the town instead of hanging the left to the tall purple tower in the distance, where the windows glowed with light, magic sparking right out the chimney. The Royal Guard patrolled the street, local guards in tow the closer they got to the centre.

"No. Never."

"Not ever?"

"Well...okay, maybe I'm a bit of a liar. I have thought about it. But I've been taught all my life that it's unsafe, y'know? As most of the people are taught. That ordibeings would hunt us for our magic again the moment we left the safety of the Springs. So I try not to think about it, and I try to enjoy the cross-continent trip here every time we're sent out. It's nice to remember that there are places, beautiful places that exist outside the castle walls. To remember why Pyros and I are doing what we're doing."

"And even more beautiful places exist outside the continent! Beyond the oceans and the icebergs. There are a whole different set of stars on the other side of the globe at night! It's amazing. It's beautiful."

"And dangerous."

"Sometimes, yes. But not as bad as it was during the Wild Magic era. Most ordibeings have their own set of beliefs and their own versions of magic; they don't really need ours. Oh, they have stories, of course. But to them, they are simply stories and I'd wager that were we to venture out of Crystal Springs...we'd be okay. I mean, my sisters and I are! So is my Mother, and we're out of the continent nightly practically! And the Legendary Figures, they're all quite all right, the ones who roam about."

"Yeah, but they're Legendary Figures!"

"So?"

"I mean...they have more power at their disposal; they don't need to worry when they go out. But we do. That's why we were brought here, right?"

"So the history books say. But that's the thing, Blaise. It's history. We're very stuck in some ancient ways here, when you think about it, and I know you do."

He was silent as they approached a cozy main street, taverns and inns still lit up for the night, though the music had ebbed and silence had descended.

"Look, Blaise. I go beyond the Springs and I'm not a Legendary Figure."

"But you're a season."

"And technically, so are you, you know. We're the same type of sprite! Seasonal as opposed to elemental."

"I know, but I wouldn't want to step on Summer's toes. I wouldn't be allowed to."

"Says who?"

"Who do you think?"

Winter scoffed. "Ah, they're old. Very stuck in the old ways. Sometimes I think that's a bad thing."

"...Sometimes I think so, too. I mean. Mom and Dad are all about power and they interlink it with safety all the time! And when we're out here, I don't have to think about all that! And Pyros stops thinking about it too and it's kinda nice, you know? I mean, they've been here and in power for thousands of years. To think the world is still the same is...insane!"

Winter laughed. "Tell me something, Blaise. Would you still sneak out for me?"

Blaise blinked. "Oh. Most definitely. Between you and me, your snowiness," he leaned in, close to her ear. "I hate being in the fucking castle all the time."

Winter laughed. "I can't believe the magic let you get away with that!"

"I'm that passionate about it! That's why I love these outings so much! I'm not in the castle and," they came to a stop, Blaise spinning her about as the guards in front of the nicest inn in the sector stood to attention and dutifully looked away. "I get to see lovely people like you."

"Well, maybe you should accompany me out one of these days."

"Out like out out? Like out there?"

Understanding the sudden need for less words, Winter nodded. "Oh yes."

Blaise paused, fighting back a grin. "I think I'd like that. A lot."

"Oh, brilliant!" Clearing her throat as the guards shifted, Winter stepped back. "Thank you for the escort, your highness," she said, dutifully casting her eyes down and curtsying most graciously.

"Of course, your snowiness. It was my pleasure," he replied, placing his arm across his chest and bowing back. "Be safe tonight."

"Of course. And good luck on your travels."

Nodding at one another (and biting back grins something fierce), Blaise watched as Winter turned on her heel expertly, fully thawed tresses bouncing about. She nodded most graciously to the royal guards (the few that had been giving the Prince a moment of privacy as best as they could clanking as they stood to attention, scrambling to salute) and disappeared on the spot, the smattering of snowflakes left in her wake drifting down his way.

He gazed goofily up the street, maybe for a bit too long, only coming to his senses when one of the guards beside him cleared his throat. Straightening up, he waved (the guards happily standing down) and walked up the path and into the inn as regal and posh as possible, only dropping the act and grinning to himself when he closed the door to the inn shut behind him.

"And at what time do you think this is? And looking like THAT?!?!? And WHAT is IN your ARMOUR?!!"

Blaise frowned in quite the over-dramatically grotesque manner, one eye squinting in distaste as he plucked a tiny bit of wheat out of his couter. He held it up in front of him, Marv an angry purple blur behind it.

"It would appear to be wheat, Marv."

"And why is there wheat in your armour?"

"Because I was doing my do diligence and investigating a wheat problem in the fields."

"Hmm." Folding a napkin, he got up gracefully, surveying the prince with an unamused look. "And are you sure you acquired it like that? And not, per chance, tousling around in fields with a certain high ranking season?"

Blaise glowered. His hair burnt taller and hotter. He flicked the wheat away, approaching Marv at his full height. "I would appreciate it, Marvin, if you would refrain from using such crude language when talking about any of the seasons."

"And I would appreciate it if you made it easy to be your steward."

Blaise rolled his eyes, hair dimming. "I'm not the one you should worry about, Marv." He stepped around the drow, heading towards the stairs. "You and I both know that." He paused by Marv's table, grabbing a bun from the small bowl of bread in front of him. "You're not staying up to wait for him, are you?"

"Indeed I am."

Blaise snorted, half chewed bread going flying. "He's not coming back here for the night."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He'll spend the night with the castor."

"No he will not."

"Yes he will." Blaise spun on his heel, clanking up the first two steps. "So you MIGHT AS WELL get some sleep. You're so grouchy when you don't."

Marv's undignified yell gave Blaise great satisfaction as he bounded up the stairs, polishing off his pilfered bread and ducking into his room (one of two heavily guarded doors). He chuckled to himself, throwing off the armour (the burnished metal casually floating itself into a neat pile) and the layers underneath until he was left in nothing but his briefs. He slid into bed, arms behind his head as he thought of the world outside the healing waters and well beyond the floating icebergs.

---

The morning dawned bright and early, as it was wont to do in the early fall. Outside, the grass was crisp; a fresh layer of frost slowly melting as the sunlight hit it.

Up and at 'em and fully armoured once more, Blaise bounded down the stairs, barely able to withhold his snort when he saw Marv snoring at his table, head on his arms. Carefully, he pried a napkin out from under the bread basket, conjuring a pencil and writing something down very fast. Satisfied, the pencil disappeared and Blaise crumpled the napkin in his fist, sliding up to the counter top and clearing his throat.

Marv shot up. "Gah! Your Highness!"

"Morning Marv! I guess he didn't come in last night, huh?"

Marv cleared his throat, stepping up and righting his table. With a wave of his hand, his robes straightened themselves out, his hair looking less bedhead-y and nice and neat. "I am…unsure."

"Mm. That checks out. Ah! Tilly!"

The barkeep let out a meep, rushing to curtsy. "How can I help ya, your highness?"

"I was just wondering if there was a washroom I could use down here." He glanced over at Marv surreptitiously. The Drow was distracted, talking to Kira, the chief of security. With a flick of his wrist, Blaise slid the crumpled napkin towards the barkeep, glancing down at it and back up at her.

Catching his gaze, she reached out and uncrumpled the napkin. Her eyes skimmed the words quickly, brightening as she finished reading the hastily scrawled message. "Ah! Of course! It's just behind the staircase! There's a hallway. Make a right, and it'll be right on the end."

Blaise grinned. "Thank you, Tilly."

She bobbed her head. "Of course!"

Chuckling to himself, Blaise grabbed the crumpled up napkin, crushing it up in his palm and reducing it to ash. He followed her instructions, grinning when he turned the corner and sure enough, there was the back exit, door wide open as staff brought in the groceries for the day.

Excusing himself politely, Blaise scrambled around the staff, ignoring the scrambly bobs as he looked up and down the street for any sign of his counterpart.

There was none.

Avoiding the front of the inn, Blaise put out his hair, blending in with the crowd as best as he could and reaching out with his mind.

He was close. Just coming down the path and turning towards the main street.

Blaise rushed past the taverns, turning up the street (briefly skidding), relieved when he saw Pyros coming down the path. His gaze was intensely focused on an object in his palm as he headed down the way, looking very, very dishevelled.

Hey. Hey. Hey. Look up.

Blinking, Pyros looked up, making eye contact with Blaise, who was grinning maniacally and waving boisterously, in Pyros's very humble opinion.

I didn't realize you could wave as loud as you could speak.

Blaise laughed, bounding up the street and coming to a stop beside Pyros, turning on his heel and falling into step. I am a sprite of many talents! He smirked, his hair lighting up with a soft whoosh. We have a problem.

We do?

Well, you do. Blaise cleared his throat, pointing to the bottom corner of his own mouth. "You got something there. What is that, Jam? Jelly? Ketchup? Dye?!"

"I've yet to wash up. Figured I could do that in whatever rooms Marvin secured for us and have a nice breakfast before getting down to business."

"Not to be confused with the business you have obviously already gotten down to."

Pyros glanced down at his outfit. It was...wrinkled; dishevelled. The, uh...dye (lip paint. It was 100% lip paint) was smudged on his face AND his hands, he realized, and Lady only knew where else! His outfit was covered in magical residue and glitter that seemed very not magical. "Okay, and? What's your point?"

"Marv knows you didn't come in last night. Your royal hinny is screwed and not in the fun way I imagine it to have been last night."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't imagine my royal hinny in any capacity whatsoever."

Blaise snickered. "It's not literal."

"Good."

"Thankfully! My royal hinny is very clever and very suave and snuck out to intercept you which thank the LADY I did because voila!" Blaise snapped his fingers, and Pyros was suddenly looking as pristine as he would've had he gone home and done his morning toilette before emerging for the day. "All fixed up, and now it'll simply look like we are walking back to town together, having gotten up to none shenanigans whatsoever last night."

Pyros flashed him a wry smile. "Really? None shenanigans? From you?"

"None whatsoever."

"That'll be the day. And oh, there he is. Right on time."

"Brace yourself. I already had my lecture. He's had all night to think of yours."

"WHERE have you BEEN!" Marv marched down the street, three guards behind him, Kira at his side. "I turn around for one second and you disappear—"

"Very unwise, Blaise."

"And YOU! I leave you alone for a night and you DON'T come HOME?!"

"I was busy!"

"Yeah you were. Grrrr—oof."

Blaise rubbed his stomach as Pyros retracted his arm, standing at full height and looking down his nose at Marvin. "As you were well aware, Marvin, we had a sticky—" (a pause for Blaise's snort and another whack, on the chest this time) "—situation to find a solution for. And since Blaise requested it to be non-lethal, it required a bit of an…intense magical research session."

"You could've sent a letter! A scry, a fireball literally ANYTHING! You are a prince! The both of you! If something happened to either of you that would be very very bad all around."

"Ah, please. We can handle ourselves."

"And if anyone did anything to Blaise short of killing him, they'd give him right back. Ten minutes, tops."

"They'd give you back in five."

"Is that a challenge?!"

"NO! There will be NO challenges of this particular sort!" Marvin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am just looking out for the two of you. And if the both of you MUST mess about in the evenings at least elicit some decorum and for Goddess's sake let me know."

"Mess about?" Pyros raised an eyebrow at Blaise. "None shenanigans, eh?"

"None whatsoever."

"Hm. How's Winter doing?"

"Very well, thanks."

"Lady help me. At LEAST you are presentable, Prince Pyros."

Blaise flashed him a smug look. Pyros sighed. Thank you.

His twin grinned. Anytime.

"Feel better, Marv?"

"There is nothing short of an overnight stay at the springs that could make me feel better."

"We'll add it to the itinerary for you. So! Pyros! How'd it go?"

"Very well! We managed to isolate the sticky bit of the pygmys and extract it from them, reducing them to harmless little fluffy. Things. As for the sticky secretion, Prisma had the delightful idea to isolate it and use it to make a new kind of adhesive. She wants to test it first, so we only have the one at present.” He lifted the object in his hand—an unmarked tube. Also slightly covered in glitter. “She'll be joining us shortly to do just that."

"Where is she now?"

"Placing little sticky absorbing devices across town. This way, should the pygmys start secreting once more, the devices will use the magic we imbued within them to take it right off and store it."

"And the pygmys?"

"Can now bounce around no more harmful than, say, a tumbleweed or Blaise when you wake him up too late in the day."

"Hey!"

"He's right, your highness."

Blaise made an undignified sort of moaning and or groaning sound in his throat. "Whose side are you on here, Marv?"

"Mine. And it is a lonely, fruitless side, let me tell you. Now then. We've much to discuss and itinerary changes to make so, let's go eat and then go about our day. I shall have a setting put out for this castor of yours, Prince Pyros."

"Very good."

"Shall I set one for her snowiness, Prince Blaise?"

Now Pyros grumbled while Blaise held back a snort. "No, no. That, uh, won't be necessary. She'll be coming by at a later date to touch base with the tenant whose fields are frosting over. She's, uh, not joining us for breakfast." He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish.

Pyros smirked. “You’d like that though, wouldn’t you.”

“Immensely.”

“Shame we can’t switch.”

“Alas! She is a season, not a talented castor.”

Deciding against chiding the pair of them for their silly little banter, Marvin pressed his fingertips together. "Hmm. Very well. Come along, you two."

Clapping, Marvin set back towards the inn, hands behind his back, head held high. The detachment of guards that had surrounded him now surrounded the Twin Princes, ushering them forward while preventing them from backtracking or making any other attempts to escape and or engage in tomfoolery, as it were. After all, they had a schedule to keep. Rounds to continue on and issues to address. Being behind simply would not do. Not for Blaise, not for Pyros, not for Marv or any other members of the royal detail that'd been sent out to keep the peace, as it were.

---

Days later the Twin Princes found themselves once more shut into their carriage, both boys looking out the window with similar, thoughtful frowns. The carriage rumbled on, rain splattering the rooftop as the sun shone brightly.

Thoughts in faraway places well beyond the sun showery path before them, Blaise let out a melancholy sigh.

"Hmm. That's not good. You're usually rearing to get to the South."

"I do love me a good beach."

Pyros smiled to himself, glancing back out the window. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

He could ask mentally. Didn't even need to ask; could just pop on into his head and figure it out for himself. It's not like he blocked his end of their connection; neither of them did.

But it was a lot more fun to outright ask.

"Hey, Blaise."

"Mm."

"What're you thinking about?"

Success! His twin smiled through the hand pressed onto his face, the severity dropping and revealing the more carefree brother he was used to. "Land disputes. You?"

"Pygmys."

"Pygmys?"

"Pygmys. See, here's the thing." He leaned forward in his seat, hands folded between his knees. "The word pygmy is just that! A word! It usually denotes something smaller than the regular. And they used it to describe those small fluffy things."

"What would you call them instead?"

"Hmm. Don't know. Fluffs? Fuzzes? Fuzzies? Fuzzballs? Furries? Furbies?"

"I don't like that last one."

"Nor do I. Furby sounds like it could be a curse word. Like, a good and proper curse you'd cast, not a cuss word." He paused briefly, taping his nose. "Now, here's the thing. If the word pygmy denotes a smaller version of something, it begs a question."

Blaise dropped his hand from his face, giving Pyros his full, undivided attention. "Go on."

"If these pygmys are called that by the locals simply because they are small, is there a bigger pygmy? A giant pygmy to rule them all? A fuzzball the size of both of us?"

Blaise laughed, a right and proper loud laugh. "Maybe that's why they're so sticky? Maybe it's because they stick together and make a big ol' clump of fuzzball and THAT'S the one fuzzball to rule them all!"

Pyros lit up. "Ou! I didn't even think of that possibility! Now, IF that's the case, where is it? Where does it reside? What does it want? And should we find it?"

"Or will it find us..."

Now Pyros found himself snorting, the pair of them laughing up a storm to out storm the sun shower outside.

The carriage rumbled on, bringing the princes closer and closer to their next stop, their laughter echoing about the entourage. Guards perked up; Blaise's horse whinnied happily, trotting up to the window and trying his best to shove his little head into the carriage with them.

On the covered seat of the carriage, Kira chuckled, elbowing Marvin gently.

"You gotta admit. It's nice to see the two of them getting along and in such high spirits."

"Kira, if I admit that, I am sure it will be my downfall. I have a reputation to keep, you know. Lady only knows what'll happen if I destroy it. All my credit!"

She laughed. "Of course, of course. Goddess forbid."

She looked away, smiling to herself, because even Marvin could not hide the slight smile their jovial (and, quite frankly, very unbecoming of their station, if you asked him) hooting and hollering brought to his face.

[adalwolfgang]

Until I Found You

Younger!Bo Sinclair x Fem!Reader

Requested By: @charliedawn

Warnings: Reader is a Singer at a bar, takes place before Ambrose became deserted, Lester as a wingman, Pet Names, Slang term Yankee used, Southern Gibberish/Slang, Alcohol, Blood/Foul Language/Bar fight, Little ooc, Bo Sinclair

The local bar is a quaint little place, full of recognizable faces and a good place to have fun, not to mention it’s a great way to make money, every Saturday, you would stand on the small wooden stage singing whatever song was requested by patrons. Tonight's song choice being "Until I Found You" by Stephen Sanchez.

You wouldn't have to be on stage until another hour, so you were given the chance to relax in a secluded section of the bar for employees only. The view was perfect for you to overlook the whole bar while staying out of view of most eyes. Your hair a makeup already prepped and. A simple vodka martini in your hand as you chatted with some of your coworkers since after your show, the bar would be closing for the day.

Your conversation is cutoff by a commotion. You and your coworkers snap your heads to the noise, a broad southern drawl reaching your ears as slurs are shouted out, along with the crash of glass and wood making an impact. A fight had broken out between a group of patrons. A tall brunette and a scrawny blonde man vs what looked to be a group of Yankees.

Your eyebrow quirks up when you listen to half the insults spitting out of one of the brunettes' mouths. With how fast he was talking and with his accent, it all sounded like gibberish. "YER EN' EGG SUCKIN' DAWG IZ WHUT YORE!" Wow....

More insults and punches are thrown at both parties as you watch the scene unfold. Soon your pissed off boss followed by security break up the fight. The Yankees' getting escorted out of the bar since they supposedly started the fight. The scrawny blonde man tries his best at holding back the raging brunette who is still sputtering insult after insult. Half of them making no sense to you or your coworkers.

After everything settles down, you watch as the duo walk to the wooden barrier that is located along the length of the bar. After finishing your drink, you check the clock mounted on one of the walls. You still had a few minutes to spare before you needed to be backstage in preparation for your show. You stand to your feet and start making your way to the bar. You rest your elbow on the bar, resting your chin in your hand. "Another martini please Dan" you ask with a cheeky smile. Dan was one of the bartenders that would sometimes give you and other coworkers a drink on the house.

He places down the glass he was cleaning before giving a small nod with a smirk. "You nervous to go on stage?" he asks as he walks over to the many options of alcohol. Grabbing a bottle of vodka and a martini glass. You shrug your shoulders, "Only thing to keep my nerves low." He finishes making your drink, sliding it over to you. "Yeah? Well, you best be careful with how much you consume. Wouldn't want you getting on stage drunk off your ass."

You just roll your eyes playfully in response, taking a sip of your drink. As you do so, you feel eyes bore into you. You look in the corner of your eye to see the brunette from earlier, sitting right next you. He quickly notices your gaze but doesn't look away. Instead, he gives a wink as he tips his glass to you, taking a swig. Your face instantly heats up as you can't help but return a small smile to him. "Aren't you the guy who was throwing those insults earlier?" you ask with a raised brow.

Now it's his turn to be embarrassed. "Ya' saw thet?"

"I did." You give a chuckle before asking, "Would you be kind enough to explain what you were sputtering at the other group? Your accent made it hard for me to understand what you were saying." He gives a small smirk before letting out a hearty laugh.

"Now whut' kind of gentlemen would ah bay tuh tell uh purdy women lahk you thet? Thet would bay gist plain rude uh meh." You can't help but smile at his choice of words. Very charismatic. "You have a nice accent."

After some more flirty banter back and forth, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see one of the guitarists. "We're on in 10 minutes." He says with an embarrassed smile, feeling bad for interrupting the conversation. You turn back to look at the man.

"It was nice chatting with you, but I need to get to work. See ya around mister" you say with a wave goodbye before following the guitarist through the crowd to backstage. Bo was about to reach out to grab your wrist, but Lester stopped him. "Ahdn't do it Bo. Ya should tawk' tuh' her afterwards. Hey, yer might git lucky" Lester mutters into his ear before patting him on the back. Bo looked gave Lester a pointed look before looking back toward your form. His eyes held yearning, but he then thought back to Lesters words before shaking his head and turning in his stool back toward the bar. He most definitely would talk with you after.

(Time skip, lights point toward the stage, everyone quieting down.)

The guitarist from earlier appears on stage as the bar goes quiet. He starts strumming on his guitar, and singing the opening to the song. "Georgia, wrap me up in all your. I want you in my arms. Oh, let me hold you. I'll never let you go again like I did. Oh, I used to say. I would never fall in love again until I found her. I said, I would never fall unless it's you I fall into. I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her. I found you~"

You then walk out on stage, holding a vintage mic to your lips, "Heaven, when I held you again. How could we ever just be friends? I would rather die than let you go. Juliet to your Romeo, how I heard you say~" As you sing, you sway your body a little on stage, circling the guitarist as he strums his guitar.

Then you both join together, "I would never fall in love again until I found her. I said, I would never fall unless it's you I fall into. I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her. I found you~"

Bo watches you from his seat at the bar with a slack jaw and mesmerized look, the way you capture everyone’s attention, just like a siren, and everyone in the bar is completely transfixed on you both. He notices the way the dim lights shine against your skin, making you glow as the lyrics flow so heavenly from your lips, he could watch you forever.

The song ends with a close, the guitarist singing the last part of the song. "I would never fall in love again until I found her. I said, I would never fall unless it's you I fall into. I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her. I found you~"

The room falls silent before a round of applause tears through the air, and you smile. You and the guitarist bow to each other before bowing to the crowd. Not soon after, you walk off the small wooden stage. Some coworkers huddling over to congratulate you both.

(Time skip, again. Soon as almost everyone is out of the bar, except of few employees and patrons being passed out drunk.)

After getting changed out of your performance clothes, you head toward the exit, waving bye to some of your coworkers. Too say you were exhausted would be an understatement. Before you can get but only a few feet from the bar, you feel a tap on your shoulder, and someone clearing their throat. You turn around and nearly jump in surprise when a bouquet of flowers are in your face.

"Ya did purdy good up on thet' stage sweetheart."

Your eyes widen when you hear the broad southern drawl from the man at the bar. You peak over the bouquet of flowers to see him rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You notice he is no longer wearing the mechanic suit like before. Instead, it's a black suit, with a black jacket to go along with it. His hair slicked back, except for one strand poking out. You take the flowers from him, giving them a small sniff before smiling back at him.

"Would it be rude of me to ask what these are for?"

Bo goes to answer but his words get caught in his throat. He avoids your gaze for a minute, before turning his head. You quirk a brow, following his gaze before stifling laugh. His brother was peeking out behind one of the buildings close by, trying to mouth something to Bo and gesturing for him to keep talking. Bo lets out a hard sigh before turning back to you with a polite smile. "Gist may showin' ya southern hospitality," he says before wetting his bottom lip, "Ah know thus might bay very bold uh may but...." He clears his throat, "Can ah invite ya tuh have dinner with may wun night? Thayure's thus' new restaurant in Ambrose, maeybe' we could try it together?"

"Like a date?"

Bo chuckles at your question, looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up to you. "Ah mean.....Ahdn't make no protest."

You give a laugh. Bo couldn't help but swoon right then a there. He gets so caught up in his head, he almost trips forward, quickly catching himself and standing up quickly. "How about I meet you back here tomorrow night? Same time. After my show, we can go to this new restaurant." Bo's face lights up at your proposal. "Alright! Same tahm', tuhmorrow' night. Got it." He nods his head in agreement. He turns to go back toward his brother but stops in his tracks before turning back to you. He softly takes your hand in his, pressing a quick kiss to it before walking backwards then spinning around, walking back to his brother. He gives Lester a big smile before doing a small jump in victory to you saying yes.

He couldn't wait for tomorrow night.

[coiled-dragon]

Ok ok. Im addicted. 31 for Dracfield please? "Don't look at them. Look at me."

Hehehe ♥ This one was fun c:

"Don't Look at Them. Look At Me"+"I'm Not Going To Let Anyone Hurt You" [I stretched the latter a little]

CW: Canon-typical Violence

The church always found them eventually. It was a part of this seemingly endless cycle Renfield was beginning to piece together. His Master would grow strong and bold, leaving behind a trail of corpses - both figurative and literal - that would lead the church and their hunters right to their doorstep. So far, the vampire hunters had always failed in their attempts, but they had begun to grow less predictable in their methods.

Like now, attacking at the break of dawn rather than midday.

Renfield closed the door to his Master’s room, the count having laid down for his rest, when the sound of wood splintering followed by the shouts of men reached his ears. The thunder of feet came next, racing through their estate positioned in northern Italy, and Renfield knew it could be no one but vampire hunters. No one else would have need to attack the isolated mansion, Dracula having made himself a friend of the local nobility and bringing Renfield with him to gatherings… They were known in their half a decade of residence, but that meant the increase of life lost and the bizarre way bodies had been found would’ve reached the church all the quicker.

Cursing, Renfield ran back to the door he’d just locked, throwing it open as a pair of men made it up the stairs. One pointed and yelled in Italian, too quick for him to catch the meaning but he didn’t fancy it was anything nice. Slamming the door behind him, he ran to the coffin.

“Master- Master, hunters, we must-”

The door was kicked open and Renfield dropped, a sharp pain lodging itself between his shoulder blades. The pain was brief, followed only by the fact he couldn’t move at all. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything.

There was a knife lodged in his spine.

“Good, with Dracula’s rat out of the way this’ll be easier,” a gruff voice said, half a dozen men spilling into the room armed with garlic, crossbows, and wooden stakes. “You lot, pull down these blinds, hurry. Before he wakes up.”

Renfield’s mind was racing, able to move his head but not much else. He reached for their bond in a panic, voice caught in his throat but loud in his mind.

Hunters, Master, hunters, please get up.

A few moved towards the windows and he felt a pressure as one man, the gruff voice that had spoken in English, stepped on his back.

“The Vatican would like you back alive,” the man said, Renfield’s bright blue eye rolling up to the bearded man. “Don’t know why they’d want a man who betrayed his humanity, but they also didn’t say I had to bring you back walking.”

He laughed, Renfield struggling to find his voice and still unused to the way his whole body felt incorporeal, like he was a head attached to empty space. It frightened him. It frightened him worse that one of the tall windows was now letting in brilliant early morning light.

The coffin lid stirred, all the hunters turning their attention to the sound of stone scraping stone. A clawed hand slid between the initial crack and nearly all of them pulled up their crossbows - silver-tipped bolts, aimed at the ready.

“Idiots, pull down the blinds first!” The man's warning was ignored as hunters drew closer. Dracula’s hand raised an index finger and wagged as though chastising their eagerness, then vanished.

A billowing cloud of fog erupted from the coffin and came at the man standing over Renfield, the familiar flinching when hot blood splattered on his cheek. A moment later, the commanding hunter fell next to him, throat cut open as Dracula materialized by Renfield. He sighed in annoyance, flicking the blood from his claws and looking about the room before kneeling down.

“Mas-Master, I can’t move…” Renfield said, his voice coming out in a panicked whisper. Dracula hushed him, paying no mind to the five crossbows trained on him. He pulled Renfield’s face up, his gaze rolling to each of the men as they came a little closer in a circle. The one window that had been stripped of its light-blocking curtain was too far to hurt his Master, but the men-

“Don’t look at them, Renfield,” Dracula said, eerily calm as he ran a thumb over his familiar's cheek. “Look at me.”

Renfield obeyed, looking into the blazing eyes of his Master. Normally, seeing him so angry might be upsetting, but this… This was not anger targeted at him. He could feel a calmness in that fury, subduing his fear as Dracula reached for the blade in his back. Renfield twinged when it was pulled free, though he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t even feel the blood as it blossomed like a flower along the back of his shirt.

“I’ll heal you, but first…” Dracula laid Renfield back down, the familiar angling his head to watch as all five men flinched and raised their crossbows. His Master turned to them with the knife. “None of you get to touch what is mine, least of all the fucking Vatican.” He spat the final word with venom.

The first bolt was fired, and then a second, but Dracula easily evaded them both. He didn’t even need to turn into fog for it, avoiding them in a fluid motion before he spun at the first man. Renfield kept his eyes on him, the vampire attacking like he was leading them in a dance with death. Blood sprayed from opened arteries, the crunch of bone and screams became his music. It was ethereal and haunting, a slaughter performed like art.

It was over in seconds.

Dracula tossed the knife to the side after the last body fell, blood splattered up his arm. He made his way back to Renfield, wiping their blood on his pants with a wrinkled nose. Pure blood was his favorite, but it seemed that there was something else in the blood of a vampire hunter that put him off of it, purity be damned.

“Thank you, Master,” Renfield said, even before he’d cut open a vein to heal him. The butchering had been personal. A knife hadn’t been necessary to decimate the men, but it had been a statement to the hunters to take to their death. Dracula gave a noncommittal grunt.

“No one may hurt what belongs to me,” he said in a low voice, pretending like he hadn’t cared about it at all. Blood flowed from his wrist onto the open and bleeding wound on Renfield’s back. “No one may take what belongs to me, either.”

Renfield whined as feeling began to return to him. Pain was always the first, hot and searing like being dipped in molten iron, but at least this time it faded fast. The wound would have left him impaired for life, despite being small. It had been precisely aimed. He sighed in relief, opening and closing his hands as feeling rushed back into them.

As he stood, Dracula grabbed his face and looked him over.

“I won’t let them hurt you again,” he promised. Renfield’s brows quirked up at the statement. There was more than a sliver of care in the sentiment and it warmed him, nodding. “Now, I’m going to rest.” He let go of Renfield and made his way back to his coffin, huffing in irritation as he kicked one of the bodies. “These better be cleaned up by nightfall. And fix the damn curtain.”

Renfield smiled as Dracula slipped into his coffin and the lid began to close.

“Of course, Master.”

[finaldisorder]

" Be a good boy for me." (For Malcolm obvs)

Spoiled rotten rich boy throws temper tantrum in local precinct; more at 11.

Many factors usually toss Malcolm into a tantrum; the stress of his latest case, the stress of his family, the stress of being alive. The stress of secrecy. All of it builds up, crushes his chest, makes his tremors worse and his therapy visits annoyingly long. He's mere steps closer to solving this case, and like fucking clockwork, everyone distrusts him. They steer him in the wrong direction and they tell him that his instinct must be wrong.

The only thing that keeps him sane these days, the only safe space for him is Billy; and that means, unfortunately, that Billy is the one that gets caught in his crosshairs at times. Normally it's just a quick snip back, a tone of voice, a bark of annoyance or a bratty quip before he's eating his words and Billy has him down and cuffed. No cuffs here - well, none that can be used with polite company. And that's another thing; nobody likes his involvement with Billy.

Just one more frustration when the larger male comes to visit this time. And normally, Malcolm is one to tip the scales. He loves it when Billy visits. He likes it when everyone stares, glares, whispers among themselves. The profiler usually lets touches linger and stares pointedly at others as he kisses Billy (and maybe he puts a little tongue in there sometimes too, because it's thrilling when others stare at them that way), but today he's at his limit.

Not to mention he and Gil had just finished a shouting match minutes before Billy arrived.

"Good boy- a good boy?" He's practically growling, but the tone is tense. He's on the edge of ... something. He doesn't know what it is, but it's a familiar feeling. He needs someone else to take control. He wants to shut his brain off and not think and just as he tosses a folder aside on his desk haphazardly, snarling out in frustration, does he finally realize just who it is he's being snarky with. Billy should be used to some sass, but not this level of tantrum. Malcolm is usually good about not being a petulant child with his boyfriend.

"What constitutes being a good boy in this scenario, Billy? Huh?" A glance at his trembling hand just frustrates him further and it takes every single ounce of strength in his body to reel back the tantrum already boiling over. He holds his trembling hand with his stable hand, gripping so tightly his knuckles bloom white. "Everyone in this place thinks I'm crazy. No matter what I do, it's never going to be good enough for them unless I catch this guy, so can I please just -"

A huff, and he glares at the folder on his desk. A few steadying, deep breaths, and he side-eyes Billy with only a hint of shame in his eyes. "Sorry, I'm sorry." Apologise now, because he knows punishment later is going to be brutal for barking back at his lover this way. He welcomes it. He can't wait for it. "I'll - I'll be good." Another pause, and he finally drags his eyes up to catch Billy's stare. "I'll be a good boy."

[wrightingdungeon]

Sweet Scales 2

As Always MDNI this is a adult space

pt1.

pt3.

MDNI pt4.

Living in Sun Haven was a delightful life for Liam and his sisters. The climate was significantly warmer than their old town up north, which Liam appreciated greatly. The local guard was quite responsive whenever trouble reared its head, ensuring a sense of security. Additionally, having Lucia, the powerful archmage, as a neighbor further enhanced their feeling of safety. She was a formidable protector, known throughout Sun Haven for her strength and vigilance.

Despite the generally peaceful life, occasional troubles still managed to find their way into Sun Haven. One recurring issue for Liam was the upkeep of his large wheat field. This field was not only a source of income for his family but also played a role in feeding most the residents of Sun Haven. Unfortunately, it also attracted unwanted attention from bandits who sought to steal the wheat and sell it as their own.

Usually, when these bandits appeared, Liam could scare them off by storming out of his house and threatening to call the guards. His authoritative voice he used when playing monster with the girls, often enough to send them running. However, today was different. The bandit seemed more determined and less intimidated by his usual threats. As he approached the field, he sensed that the outcome of today’s confrontation would not be as straightforward as in the past.

“Hey, you need to get out of here! I'm gonna call the guards,” Liam shouted, crossing his arms as he watched the bandit fill their bag. “And what are they gonna do about it? Lock me up?” the bandit sneered, laughing at Liam as they cut another bundle of wheat. “They'll do more than that. Stealing from this farm is a serious crime,” he warned, his eyes narrowing trying to look tough. “Serious crime, huh?” the bandit mocked, shaking their head in disbelief. “You really think a bunch of guards scare me?”

He watched the Bandit stand, noticing a flash of metal under the bandit's cloak . “Go on call for the guards, they won't get here before I'm done.” Liam stepped back, hearing the unsettling sound of the sword being unsheathed.

Just then, a new voice interrupted the tense standoff. "Well, what in the fuck is going on here?" Both Liam and the bandit snapped their heads toward the source of the voice. Nessa stood there, the tip of her long, sinuous tail flicking in annoyance, one hand placed on her hip. Her red eyes bore into the bandit with a mixture of irritation and authority.

"Nessa…" Liam whispered, his eyes widening with fear and concern. He didn’t want her to get mixed up in this dangerous confrontation and risk getting hurt. Hearing the bandit laughing, he looked back at them,confusion growing. "Fucking hell, my lucky day.”

Confused and alarmed, Liam furrowed his brow, watching as the bandit turned their full attention toward Nessa with a greedy glint in their eyes. "Forget the wheat, I can sell your pelt for much more." The words made Liam want to throw up, and struck him like a physical blow, making his entire body feel like it was going to explode with rage and disbelief. The idea was far too graphic and horrifying for him to comprehend how anyone could think of such a thing.

“Don't talk about her like that!” Liam's words and body burst forth, fueled by anger, the bandit's cruel comment struck a protective nerve within him. The bandit glanced at Liam and let out a mocking laugh, pushing the tip of their sword into Liam's face, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you gonna do? You don't even have a weapon,” they taunted with a smirk, stepping nearer to Liam, the sword gleaming ominously in the light as they threatened him.

“I do,” Liam heard Nessa say before he saw an arrow pierce the bandit's arm with a sharp thunk. “ARGHH, FUCKING BITCH!” The bandit screamed in pain, gripping their wounded arm tightly. “Liam, get back.” Liam looked over at Nessa and noticed the primal look in her now slitted eyes, akin to a viper ready to strike. His feet moved instinctively before his mind caught up, propelling him towards Nessa. He watched as she swiftly closed the distance, skip-stepping past him with deadly grace towards the bandit.

He watched Nessa as her tail coiled tightly around the bandit, her muscular form constricting their body and extracting a struggling breath from them. “You're gonna leave Sssun Haven, and if I ever ssssee you again, I'll make ssssure you never forget it!” she hissed, her voice carrying a deadly edge that matched the lethal grip of her coils around the bandit's torso.

The bandit could only nod quickly, their face and body turning purple from her powerful grip. Nessa dropped them abruptly and coiled back up, separating Liam from the bandit. “Get,” Nessa spat out, her eyes narrowing as she watched the bandit scramble to their feet and flee into the woods. Liam watched Nessa's back, seeing her hasted breathing, slightly taken aback after witnessing her almost crush someone, but the fact that she showed restraint and let them go made him respect her even more.

“Liam, are you okay?” Nessa asked softly as she approached him, her gaze searching his face for any signs of injury. “I'm so glad I was looking for you…” She hesitated, Liam noticing the tears of fear she was trying to hold back. “Yeah… I'm fine,” Liam replied gratefully, his eyes lingering on the crossbow still in her hands.

His hand gently placed on top of hers in reassurance. "Thank you, Nessa," he said softly, a warm smile tugging at his lips as he noticed the blush that colored Nessa's cheeks. "Oh, it's nothing. I'd do it any day," she chuckled nervously, pulling back slightly from his touch. "By the way, what did you need me for?" Liam asked, absently reaching up to play with his hair.

"Oh yeah! Do you know how to jump rope?" Liam chuckled at the unexpected question and shook his head in bemusement. "No, I don't. But the girls are good at it… Why?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her odd request. "There's a weed monster on my farm, and they won't leave unless I can beat them at jump rope, but uhhh…" Nessa looked down with a sigh, motioning to her inability to jump due to her Naga form lacking knees. Liam chuckled softly, initially taking it as a joke. "Oh, that's quite a funny one," he remarked, his laughter tapering off as he saw the seriousness in Nessa's expression. What's next, a monster who wants to challenge them to tic-tac-toe?

[popculturerobots]

Digimon: The Movie

It's fuckin' wild. Can we talk about it? It was my introduction to Digimon (which is why I use the dub names for everyone, sorry not sorry), and it means a lot to me. There's so much dumb shit that I still love about it. The ridiculous story linking three films using a one-off character from the third one. Kari narrating everything (actually pretty cute). All the bad jokes used to "localize". The gag that Tai and Kari's mother can't cook. Tai apologizing for throwing up in Sora's hat. You've Got Mail!

I know this has already been done to Hell, but I just want to focus in on the soundtrack. So stick with me for a bit.

I rewatched the movie not too long ago and was surprised by how much of the soundtrack I just didn't remember. (like "Rockafeller Skank", what?) I knew the songs, but they just kind of blended into a vague sort of nostalgia. A lot of it probably had to do with how short the song drops were.

There's the "All Star" drop at the end with Endigomon where Willis calls him tone deaf (ouch), and a few other songs drop during battles. I want to point out "Nowhere Near" by Summercamp because T.K. wears shirts with the band name in tri. I also want to shout out "All My Best Friends Are Metalheads" by Less Than Jake because it's a great song by a great band. Ska punk forever.

It's probably a good thing I don't remember the "Digi Rap" because it's...not great. The "Digimon Theme", however, still gets stuck in my head to this day. It rules. Digimon are the champions. The main motif is also repeated during intense moments by the brass section throughout the score (performed by the Israel Philharmonic, I guess because Saban was US-Israeli). This movie is for sure one of the reasons I'm such a basic bitch for a brass line. That being said, I still prefer Butter-Fly (tri. all cast version best version).

"One Week" by Barenaked Ladies. Yeah, the meme song. It starts playing when Tai's apology email to Sora fails to send and continues through the exposition of where the other DigiDestined are. I thought this drop was so clever when I was younger. Unashamed to say this is a good song that I can sing entirely from memory.

And now the best drop of the entire movie. "The Impression That I Get" by The Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Good song, still in my rotation. It plays when Sora gets Tai's email and forgives him (or is implied to, at least) with the opening lines "have you ever been close to tragedy". Yes. And then it cuts to the missile poking out of the water. It tips over to the lyrics "so heavy you collapse". Again, yes. But the lyrics say "no". It's so dumb, and it makes me big dumb smile.

But the wildest part of all this is "Kids in America". Because the DigiDestined are kids and they go to America. Sure, makes sense. But it’s covered by Len. You know, the "Steal My Sunshine" band? Remember them? Well I remember them for the music video at the end of the VHS where the band members go to the premiere of Digimon: The Movie. I vividly remember this thing. The animation that was so bad compared to the movie it followed. The monkey playing congas. The band members sitting in the theatre with Tai and Greymon. Greymon trying to steal popcorn. I don't know who thought this was a good idea, but I hope they're doing well.

Thanks for reading. Now go listen.