#watch these come out months from now when the heat behind these feuds is long gone smh

[fantasticalleigh]

praying one day we get a wwe figure of drew in his leather jacket. or the slutty tank top + skinny jeans. why are all his figures so bare bones and boring :/

[prelovednikaidou]

corrupt; draken, ken ryuguji [01]

Summary:

In which you met the man of your past, but he didn't come back to remind you of the bitter break-up. Draken had one thing in mind and it was to never let you leave his side ever again. Distance made the heart grow fonder but he'd rather let you spend the rest of your life hating him if it meant you'd never leave his sight.

"I don't wish you well when you ain't with me, I want you crying."

Warning:

mention of suicide, oral receiving (reader),

a/n: taglist are open up to 10 users! comment '☁️'

Word count: 2.1k

series masterlist

[01: jealousy]

Draken wanted to take you away.

The curves of your spine, flowing down to the slope of your well-rounded bottom flesh, he watched the symmetrical dimple right above your butt - mocking him that those precious intimate spots were no longer his possession to own.

It wasn't only him who shared the same thought; everyone in this crowded room had their eyes glued on you. As if you were holding those guests captive, you felt immense pressure on your feet and thighs, quivered before you wrapped your leg around the shining pole.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Those blinding lights showered your sweating figure in all fairness, the sound of Abel's voice had long dimmed down, it meant that your show was done. It was silent in a minute,

lifting your face - your lips curled into a hunting smile and the room soared with cheers, crumpled money tossed across the stage, but your sense of content was suppressed by the overwhelming tension.

A pair of black pupils were starring at you - pinning you to where you stood. He was among the crowd, all in his glory without care but you. You felt something burst inside your chest, unable to tear your focus from him.

This longing for him is toxic.

Flashes of memories where those sober eyes bore into yours when he pumped his fat cock into your tight cunt until his thick cum over spilled, the same eyes that once shone with so much love but turned cold.

"Dollface!"

A shout from backstage startled you from your daze, another coworker came up and escorted you down, assisting you to take off the painful high heels.

"What's with you?" She threw a curious stare your way.

You still couldn't wrap your mind. He was there. Flesh and soul, presented in front of you. It was a brief eye contact but it was enough. Enough to tell you that he was coming back for you.

It had been years since the two of you chose to split up, making your paths without each other's companion.

"I, I've got to go. I forgot that I locked the windows, my cat's probably waiting for me. He's been out for 3 days so he's starving I think. Y'all can continue without me,"

You stood but your knees turned weak at the sudden arrival of him, standing by the door. A few steps taken back, you lost all rationality to stay calm because your heart thumped loudly.

Standing tall on his 6' ft, athletic and young Draken was nowhere to be seen but replaced - with a mature adult man that induced everything he carried into lust.

The robust body looked incredibly fit, lean, and you could see the strong outlines of his defined chest and abdominal muscles from the black shirt. If it was years ago, those leather jackets wouldn't suit him - he'd look like those up-start wannabe gangsters.

But it was different now. It clung to his broad shoulders perfectly, he wasn't as cheap as those local pranksters. The dark jeans also did little job in hiding his long legs. He was indeed a member of a gang; eerie and cruel - but he had never look this good that you want to fuck.

Draken's presence was enough to brush away every man in the room that you belonged to him. Your little admirers couldn't even look at him in the eyes, let alone make up a fight.

They left with a strong sense of defeat; no wonder you never once accept any confessions, turned out you have such a man waiting.

"Why is he here? This area is off-limits. Only staff is allowed. Naoki, guide him out." You forced yourself to mutter those words, uncaring to look at him with your back facing him.

Naoki sighed, this man literally slipped $750 under the table just to meet you. Those incompetent flies who claimed to love you didn't even spare this much effort. She only signaled him to step in before she whispered to you,

"Remember the guy I told you? The one that booked a whole session for your private room? He's that guy. It's just that he arrived a little early than the arranged meeting but it'll be great if you can build a connection with him."

You glared back, "Then send him back. We still have a week before that, right? I'm tired. I can't keep up with this," You pushed off her hand from your shoulder, began to take off your wig. His eyes were still the same; always undressing you naked.

Naoki could only grit her teeth, the money already landed in her pocket. What if he asked it back? She can't let such a great deal slip so she greeted him,

"She's a bit tired from the recent show. How about we push this to tomorrow? She's got free time on her hand to rest too." At least, this would do, right?

"If I have so much time on my hands, I wouldn't have come a week early. So you guess it yourself." His voice has changed too. It was an octave lower, you immediately rubbed your thighs together before you waved a hand.

"Haaa... leave us, Naoki. But I need you to go to my house. I wasn't joking about what I said earlier."

Naoki hurriedly nodded, clutching to her pocket before her eyes warily darted from Draken to you. Is this a couple feud? She noted in her head that she'd help this guy soon in the future - who doesn't want easy money?

"Okay, I will. Sir...? Err.. hope you have a pleasant chat with Dollface. I will excuse myself then ." The hindrance in Draken's eyes finally left the room, the door closed in a thump and the subtle tension thickened.

He didn't say anything, only leaned his body by the door as he watched you wiped off your makeup. This was his morning view back when you were still wet behind ears about pole dancing. You'd come back at the crack of drawn and he'd already been out to his workshop.

"Dollface."

Stubborn like a little cat, your doe eyes didn't look up from your make-up bag and he could see through your act to be so busy. He loved how feisty you've become after years. It eased his heart that you could chase off those little shit.

"It suits you, [Y/N]. Face so pretty like a doll. Make one's heart itch to keep around. But I wonder why the name sounds so familiar."

"State your business. I'm heading home straight after this so don't expect a lap dance or something."

"Then that's the plan. I'll drive you home, eh?"

That damn 'eh'. He picked up your habit too well that the time he spent with you shaped him into copying your habit. It sounded cute but your heart still couldn't forgive him. Let him suffer a little.

"Don't need to. My boyfriend is great at doing his job. So do me a favor and let me rest quickly, how about that?"

Now, you were looking at him through the mirror. It was just too hard for you to muster yourself to face him directly. Draken didn't seem shaken. He stood straightly, you clenched your thighs tighter.

"Have I ever been quick in everything when I'm with you, [Y/N]?" His towering figure gawked over your smaller frame - casting his shadow over you as his sharp facial features caught your attention.

"Can't remember. Maybe? Because I said it just now almost like a reflex." You replied, not backing down but instead, squaring up to him that your ample breasts brushed against his torso.

His cologne didn't smell like the tacky, cheap body spray he used to own. This one smelled so expensive, alienated your memory of his familiar scent.

"Now you're getting older, your memory is getting rusty, dollface. Should I put on a play and see if you can call anything in mind?" You felt your breath became heavier but he didn't let you lose your focus yet.

Your chin was tugged upwards, the shadow of his cap cast upon his face and you remembered now; it was his eyes. Because he wasn't vocal about his feelings, you could understand everything from his eyes.

"You've grown softer, Draken. I almost threw up listening to you talk like this. What, are you changing jobs now? Don't tell me you went from a gangster to a con artist."

No, you were lying to yourself. Draken didn't change but improved. Change can be something bad but he never did anything that would bring him down. He just got better.

And it was true when the velvety touch on your beating pulse suddenly moved to your lips before he squished your cheeks in his hand.

"Fucking hot as hell but so damn annoying." He laughed, the light from his eyes never return, only replaced by a wicked glint.

He wanted to take you to his place, fuck you in his bed until you couldn't walk properly so he'd have more reasons to keep you at his place. He wanted to swallow you whole and he barely even started but why was it so damn hard to have you?

"Don't dare to think of anything nasty. You might not care about commitment in a relationship, but I do. So take your hands off me, Draken."

"Kenie. It's Kenie for you."

Your lips were so plump and wet, his other arm wrapped around your waist - hoisting you up to his body before he leaned by the dresser.

You shrieked when his scalding hot palm touched your naked back and as he untied the strings of your bra, he smiled at your face as he said,

"Do you think I'm going to believe that, dollface? Do you really think I don't know that this pussy hasn't been fucked well for months? I have eyes across this ward. You don't get to fool me."

Heat rose to your face, your small hands pushed on his shoulders, "You're still up in my business? Sounds like someone can't fucking move on."

He nodded, ripping off your lacey bralette and his big hands began to palm your heavy breast - carelessly rubbing your nipple with his thumb. You fought the urge to moan, you hold onto his shoulder for dear strength.

"You're right. I can't move on." Your breath hitched, he nuzzled his face to the column of your neck, inhaling so deep, and wrapped his arms tightly around your body. He missed you so much. So much that if you ran away again, he'd just kill himself.

"I fucked my fist thinking of you. I got this hard just by thinking of you. I'm not ashamed of it."

"That's your problem, Draken. I'm not you. I'm living my best life right now, and sorry that I can still cum just with my fingers."

"That's my girl," He pushed you until your back met the concrete wall, your eyes widened when he took off his cap and put it on you before he dropped to his knees.

"I am aware of your appetite, [Y/N]. You won't be happy with such a small meal. You always keep coming back to have your tight pussy stuffed. Even when we were living together, you couldn't stop begging my dick every night."

"What the hell are you talking about-" You pushed his forehead away from your private part, one hand covering your pussy but he gripped the side of your hips - bringing you straight to his mouth.

"I don't care if you use me as your favorite Cherry Twins. But don't deny that I made you cummed the hardest when I was in your life, dollface."

Your eyes became misty, his words just flew through your head - empty when his mouth latched on your clothed crotch, lapping on the small fabric that the nudge of his tongue probed on your budding clit.

Cherry Twins were the name he gave to your vibrators. Since he was always out when you were at home, he'd make you use them to your greedy cunt - even made a video call so he could jerk off in the public restroom.

You were wild, but he taught you to live even wilder.

Next page: chapter [02] →

a/n : next chapter is full smut bcs thats the only thing my brain's capable of. Taglist are open up to 10 users! Comment '☁️’.

Taglist: @hanmascult @q-the-rockaholic @hikkarins

[likeahorribledream]

On The Run

Request: ''I had a bad dream'' with Steve Rogers. - @fangirllife98

Summary: After the incidents from Civil War, you and Steve are on the run together.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader / Nomad!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning: Nothing triggering, I think? I suck at warnings. There isn't any physical description for the reader.

Notes at the end.

+ This is not proofread, I apologize in advance for all the mistakes you're about to see.

Steve Rogers had been your friend since he had come out of the ice. You used to work for SHIELD but you were neither an agent or an Avenger, you worked in the medical field and you had been hired to monitor Steve’s health until he woke up and after. You spent a lot of time with him and quickly became close friends. You both have very similar personalities and it made it very easy to get along. He could spend hours talking to you about his life from before and he could listen to you for hours as you tried to explain to him everything that was new and different.

He loved that you weren’t an agent or an Avenger, it allowed him to have his own little escape from that part of his life whenever it got to be too much. You were, and still are, one of his best friends and he trusts you with his life.

When he decided to go look for Bucky, he wanted you to come with him. In case Bucky needed medical help, you were the only person he’d trust around his childhood best friend. Of course, you went with him. You had listened to Steve tell you hundreds of stories about the trouble he’d get into with his friend, Bucky was too important for him to refuse to go look for him with Steve.

You hadn’t expected to become fugitives of the law, yet here you are a year later; running and hiding with Captain America.

Steve brought Bucky to Wakanda so that he could heal and understand what exactly happened to him, when he came back the feud between him and Tony was far from being over and since he went against the Sokovia Accords, he found himself on the other side of the law and since you had helped him, you were considered an accomplice and were on the ‘’wanted’’ list next to Steve’s name. Tony could have gotten them out of it but when Steve chose Bucky over him, he decided to let him fend for himself. Steve had given you a choice; he could get you a place to live in another country where you’d be safe from the authorities or you could stay with him but that meant you would have to constantly be on the move.

You’d much rather be constantly on the move with your friend, than staying in one place in a country you didn’t know without being able to see him for who knows how long, the choice had been very simple and easy for you.

After a year, the heat had died down and it allowed you to stay in one place for longer periods of time. Steve had grown a beard and let his hair get longer, it made it harder for people to recognize him. Not a lot of people knew what you look like, but you decided to dye your hair from time to time just in case someone might recognize you.

A few days ago, you and Steve went back to New York. It’s Steve’s safe place and it’s so crowded, it makes it hard for anyone to recognize either of you. Steve had found a shady motel in a shady part of town that accepted to be paid in cash, no IDs required and no questions asked. You each had a room, a door connected them and you always left it opened just to keep an eye on each other.

It’s hard to sleep. You haven’t had a single good night of sleep since you left with Steve, you were scared that if you fell into too deep of a sleep, you wouldn’t hear if someone came for you.

Tonight is your third night in a row at this motel, you were tired of eating food from the vending machines so you decided to go get some takeouts for dinner. Steve doesn’t like when you go out on your own but it was too risky for him to go with you, that’s why you mainly ate food from vending machines. After dinner, you took showers in your respective rooms. After your shower, you put on a pair of sweats and a tank top and sat on your bed, waiting for Steve to join you to watch a movie.

‘’Come on, old man.’’ You called out towards his room.

He was taking his time and you were anxious to get the movie started.

His head poked out from his bathroom door, his hair completely drenched.

‘’That nickname wasn’t funny years ago when you used it for the first time, and it’s not funny now.’’

You laughed and pointed at your smile. ‘’Speak for yourself, I personally think it’s funny.’’

He rolled his eyes.

‘’Come on, Stevie. I’m tired.’’

Steve squinted as he looked at the alarm clock on your nightstand. ‘’It’s barely 8:30. How am I the old man here?’’

‘’You were born at the beginning of the 1900s, I was born at the end of the 1900s thus making you old.’’

‘’Well, give me 5 minutes and I’ll be right there. You can start the movie, I’ll still be able to hear it from here.’’ He told you, going back into the bathroom but leaving the door slightly opened.

You did as he said, you pressed play on the movie you had chosen earlier and sat with your back against the headboard, pillows behind you to make it more comfortable.

Five minutes later, Steve emerged from the bathroom and sat down next to you. He lifted his arm to let you snuggle up against his body and then laid it on your back, his hand resting on your hip.

Movie night always meant cuddle time.

Though you loved Steve with all of your heart and he loved you with all of his, the last few months had started to get rough for the both of you. You had never realized how much you were fond of hugs and human touch until you couldn’t do either. You came to a mutual understanding that, to keep your sanity, you would have cuddle time and it had sincerely helped better both of your moods.

Once the movie was over Steve turned off the TV, gave you a kiss on your forehead and went back to his room for the night. As soon as the lights were off, you fell asleep.

You were woken up a few hours later by something touching your foot above your covers. You quickly opened your eyes and relaxed when you saw Steve standing at the foot of your bed.

‘’What’s wrong?’’ Your voice was barely audible as you were still half asleep.

‘’I- I had a bad dream. Really bad. Can I stay with you?’’ He whispered.

You could hear how anxious he was and that woke you up. You grabbed the covers that were around your shoulders and lifted them up. Steve quickly walked around the bed and joined you, settling under the sheets. You waited until he was completely laid down and lowered the covers on top of both of your bodies.

‘’Are you ok?’’ You whispered.

You were laying on your side, facing him while he was laying on his back, looking at the ceiling. He turned his head and looked at you. His eyes were looking at every detail of your face, trying to burn this image of you into his brain so he’d never forget how beautiful you looked in this exact moment.

Steve’s had a crush on you since the first day he met you. At first he didn’t think too much of it, thinking it was just because you were the first woman he’d seen in over 70 years. Then, you two became really close friends and his feelings only got stronger throughout the years but he was going through a lot and he didn’t think it was fair of him to drag you into his problems so he decided to wait before telling you how he felt. He was finally gathering up the courage around the time Bucky resurfaced and before he knew it the two of you were on the run and he was terrified to confess his feelings to you and that you’d reject him. You two literally only had each other, he couldn’t risk ruining your friendship. Not when it was the only thing keeping the both of you completely sane.

You were both so oblivious, it was almost painful. Steve thought he’d ruin your friendship by telling you how he felt and you were keeping your very similar feelings to yourself because you didn’t think you were good enough for Steve Rogers, America’s Golden Boy. Though you tried not to let it show, you were a very insecure person and you barely felt like you were good enough to be friends with him, there’s no way he’d ever see you as girlfriend material.

‘’I don’t think I am.’’ He finally answered, whispering too.

He laid on his side to face you. It was pitch black in your room, but street lamps outside still managed to peak out from between the blinds, allowing you to see Steve’s face a little better. Whereas with his enhanced everything, Steve could see you very clearly.

‘’What do you need?’’ You asked softly.

‘’You.’’ He answered without hesitation.

You had one hand tucked under your head and you reached out to the other one, brushing your fingers against his jawline soothingly.

‘’I’m right here.’’

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the gentle touch on his jaw. When he opened his eyes again, he reached out over to you to wrap his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to his chest. You were so close to him that you had to tilt your head back to be able to look at him while he had to look down. You moved your hand to the back of his head and played with his hair that was still a little damp from his shower earlier.

‘’Do you want to talk about your dream?’’ You offered knowing that sometimes talking about it helped him.

He shook his head no, his eyes on you and never looking away.

‘’I don’t want to talk.’’

His hand that rested at the small of your back was now moving up to cup the side of your face, using his thumb to gently stroke your cheek.

Somehow, Steve’s face felt closer than it had a few seconds ago. Your heart started racing and you were sure he could hear it. His thumb moved down, the pad of his finger brushed over your lower lip a few times. It sent shivers down your spine. Steve leaned down a little more, his thumb going back to rest on your cheek. His eyes kept flickering between your lips and your eyes. He was ready to stop at any sign of you being uncomfortable. He gently brushed his nose against yours and when you didn’t pull away, he finally kissed you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you felt your cheeks heat up. Steve didn’t leave you enough time to kiss him back, as he pulled away quickly. Your eyes opened, scared to see the regret on his face but instead all you could see was how nervous he was.

‘’Is this ok?’’

You nodded as an answer, not trusting your voice to function properly. He quickly closed the gap between the two of you, this time giving you a chance to kiss him back. Both your eyes were closed, his thumb started moving on your cheek again and your hand that was in his hair slowly slid down his neck, then his chest to finally move under his arm and rest on his back. The kiss was slow, as if Steve was afraid to hurt you, but you both could feel all the emotions and feelings that you hadn’t had the courage to confess being put into this kiss. He pulled back, just enough to give you a chance to breathe. Both the kiss and how loved you felt leaving you a little breathless.

He looked at you and waited until you opened your eyes. The look in his eyes made your breath hitched in your throat. He had so much love in his eyes that you thought your heart was going to melt in your chest. He rested his forehead against yours, kissing the tip of your nose.

‘’You.’’ He echoed his thoughts from earlier. His voice was barely audible but he was so close that you could hear him perfectly. ‘’I just need you.’’

I am a big sucker for Nomad!Steve, look at that glorious beard!

I hope this wasn't too cringey. This was my FIRST TIME writing a kissing scene, so please be kind. I know it was probably really bad, I'm sorry!

Thank you to my dear @fangirllife98 for requesting this. I hope you liked it and that it fed your little Steve hunger for the day.

[Taglist: @n3ssm0nique | @lover-of-bucky | @beingagodsucks ]

If you want to be added to a taglist; Bucky taglist, Steve taglist, Missing Piece taglist, Blood Moon taglist or just the general taglist just let me know in the comments or DM me.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

@evilteddybear requested: I always love a LWJ/WWX fic where the sect leaders, especially Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Qiren, come to the Burial Mounds and see what it's like before attacking, try to negotiate.

Thanks for the request (and your patience in seeing it filled), hope you like it!

[Masterpost] [Ao3]

--

“Xiongzhang.”

“Wangji. I don’t like it any more than you do but it’s going to be the best solution for everyone.”

The weight of his brother’s glare is nearly a physical blow but Lan Xichen is used to it and stands firm. It helps that he can distract himself from the heat of it by focusing on the long trek down to the bottom of the staircase of Jinlintai. With Jin Guangyao busy for the afternoon Lan Xichen had offered to take Lan Wangji into the city for the day, though now he’s wondering just why he had though that would be a good idea in the first place. Now at least, he supposes, they have the excuse of going off to purchase paper fine enough to be suitable for an invitation for Wei Wuxian to attend his nephew’s one-month celebration.

“I will take him the letter myself,” Lan Wangji states, voice pitched low and steady. Though it’s an obstinate, unmovable tone that Lan Xichen has heard far too many times before, he can’t help but feel that it’s his duty to put up at least something of a token argument. He can never seem to argue with anyone but Lan Wangji, but even then he almost always ends up bowing out as gracefully as he can under the strength of his headstrong brother’s will.

“Wangji, it’s not safe…”

“Wei Ying will not hurt me.”

“I didn’t say that he would.”

“The Wens are not a threat.”

Lan Xichen sighs heavily and pauses as they reach a landing to close his eyes against the inevitability of his little brother getting to have his way. He always has until the day Wei Wuxian left with his band of Wens, and Lan Wangji has been doggedly pursuing him – whether Wei Wuxian is aware of it or not – ever since. He’s never done well with not getting precisely what he wants when he wants it, and Lan Xichen adores his brother and the fact that he’s grown up being given what few things he has wanted without much thought. However in this moment, for this situation, he can’t help but privately wish deep down that his brother knew how to practice the same sacrifice that Lan Xichen himself makes when it comes to those he wishes to protect.

“If you doubt me you may come with me.”

“Wangji-“ Lan Xichen cuts off with another sigh as his brother simply walks away, his piece said and his interest in the conversation clearly exhausted. They both know very well that he’ll do what he wants, and Lan Xichen will allow it. Which is why, in the end, it’s no surprise at all that Lan Wangji makes his way to Yiling with his invitation tucked safely in a qiankun pouch, nor is it particularly surprising that Lan Xichen has accepted Lan Wangji’s sort-of-bluff of an invitation to go with him. What isa surprise is that Nie Mingjue had elected to join them when he’d caught wind of where they were going and why.

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen attempts to soothe now as the man in question paces back and forth in the confines of their room. In the interest of keeping the peace he had taken it upon himself to make sure that Lan Wangji got to have his own space, but any notions that Lan Xichen may have had about utilizing the relative privacy this arrangement affords to Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue have so far borne no fruit whatsoever. “I warned you that this would be a matter of patience, you didn’t have to come with us.”

“What? And let you both walk into the lion’s den? Of course I had to come.”

“Wangji and I are far from helpless, Mingjue, and he is certain that Wei Wuxian won’t harm us.”

“He’s the only one.”

“He’s not, I-“

“Xichen I will walk all the way back to Qinghe right now if you can honestly tell me that you’re completely and utterly certain that Wei Wuxian won’t hurt anybody!”

Xichen lets out an uncharacteristically audible sigh at that and fixes Nie Mingjue with one of his Looks that always make the man cave. “Even if I could meet those terms I wouldn’t want you to go back to Qinghe. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.”

“Can we stay on task here?”

“We are. We are waiting for someone to leave the Burial Mounds so that we may approach them in town rather than appearing threatening by attempting to infiltrate their settlement on the mountain. There is nothing to do now but be patient. What about our current activities are not on task?”

“We need to use this time to strategize. Plan. Things may go wrong. We may need to protect Wangji, he may need to protect either of us. We don’t know what we’re in for.”

“Mingjue.”

“Xichen.”

“This is not a battle, nor a war. We are approaching a young man – a young man Wangji trusts - who hasn’t done anything dangerous in a year so that we may invite him to a family event. Please sit down and relax.”

Nie Mingjue finally stops his pacing to turn a betrayed glare on Lan Xichen, but as with Lan Wangji he’s well used to absorbing Nie Mingjue’s frustration and neutralizing it with the soft, reassuring lines of his smile. Nie Mingjue has never been able to stay angry with him – or even near him – for longer than a few heartbeats anyway, and Lan Xichen watches the tension bleed from his broad shoulders with his next blustering exhale.

“Wangji believes that our presence may alarm the inhabitants of the Burial Mounds should we be allowed to enter their wards. You will need to remain calm in such a case so that we can show that we bear them no ill will.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nie Mingjue grumbles and Lan Xichen’s heart aches a bit for Nie Mingjue, so level-headed when it matters but so hot-headed when it shouldn’t. Nie Mingjue meets his gaze and then groans, covering his face with both hands and tipping his head back a bit as he says, slightly muffled, “Don’t give me that look, Xichen, that’s not fair. How do you always know how to get your way?!”

“It would be significantly harder to have my way if you didn’t know in your heart that I’m right. This is a delicate situation, Mingjue, we can’t let past anger cloud our judgement now. Wangji has been here before and he says that what’s going on here isn’t what everyone says it is. We’re only here to keep him safe on his errand and see things for ourselves, alright? Now is not the time to declare the continuation of Jin Guangshan’s blood feud with the Wens.”

“Yes, fine, fine! I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

“And no glaring.”

“Xichen!” Nie Mingjue manages an affronted look for only a scant moment before it too fades into grumbling acquiescence as he resumes his pacing. “Fine. As little glaring as I can manage.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I love you.”

“Xichen!” Lan Xichen laughs softly to see Nie Mingjue’s blush overtakes his handsome features, turning his entire face a lovely shade of red as he splutters his way through returning the infrequently-expressed sentiment and accepts kisses that thoroughly distract him from any lingering anger.

It takes two full days of waiting before Wangji suddenly stands and strides off right in the middle of their morning meal. The behavior is so unusual that Lan Xichen is instantly worried, though as he stands to follow – with Nie Mingjue hot on their heels – he relaxes ever so slightly to see that Lan Wangji is heading straight for a young man Lan Xichen recognizes dimly as Wen Qionglin. He reaches out instinctively to rest a restraining hand on Nie Mingjue’s arm when he feels the man tense next to him, but though the Ghost General looks a little wary upon spotting Lan Wangji he doesn’t look hostile. In fact, he looks as timid and soft-spoken as he had when Lan Xichen had seen him during the lectures in Cloud Recesses. The only hint that he can see that something is different than it was then is the pallor to his skin and, just barely visible through the curtain of his mostly-unbound hair, thin spiderwebs of black cracks on his neck that creep up towards the underside of his jaw.

It takes some convincing from Lan Wangji before Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue are allowed to approach, and then further convincing from Lan Xichen before Wen Ning agrees to let them all come up the mountain. He takes the invitation Lan Wangji presents with gentle, steady hands and holds it as gingerly as one would expect someone to hold little Jin Ling himself, and once again Lan Xichen finds his heart aching – this time for the cruelty of the world that always seems to touch the gentlest of souls.

The trek up the mountain is slow and hot, but the further they get from the town the colder things get. The sensation of the sun on his skin is still there, but it somehow brings him no warmth. The shade cast by the twisting, barren limbs of the trees seems wan and thin, and yet the chill he feels in their shadows reaches into his bones with clawed fingers of dread. The soil becomes loose and dusty under their feet and before too much longer he can feel resentful energy crawling along his skin, seeking weakness. That sensation, at least, passes almost as soon as he notices it and he realizes they must have passed through the wards. Things grow, if possible, even more gray and sere from then onwards, though by the time he can begin to hear sounds besides the wind through dead, hollow trees there are a few with some life in them. A few gnarled leaves on some of the branches in the underbrush, a few trees bearing small fruits.

They pass the first field for planting before they see anyone to till it, though the next field has a figure bent to their task. They sit up straight to watch them pass and Wen Ning offers a little wave to the figure who nods back, wariness etched into every line of their posture. Lan Xichen chances a glance at Lan Wangji to find him facing staunchly ahead, fist held behind his back and his eyes glued to the invitation in Wen Ning’s hand.

“Wei-gongzi should be tending to his field this time of day,” Wen Ning says in his typical soft stammer as they approach what seems to be the heart of the settlement. There are more people around now, all going about various agrarian tasks with varying degrees of vigor. Lan Xichen is about to ask what he means by field when he looks ahead again and spots it, shocking in the gray landscape around them – a bright green space dotted with soft pink petals, and a man in shades of black and grey bent over it with his trousers rolled up to the knee.

It’s clear that Lan Wangji is aching to go to him but they’re stopped before they can go any further by a small young woman suddenly in their way, her feet planted and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Wen-guniang,” Lan Wangji greets with a salute as Wen Ning offers a quiet, “Jie..”

“A-Ning. What are they doing here?”

There’s a beat of silence that Lan Xichen abruptly realizes it’s his responsibility to fill, despite this being Lan Wangji’s errand.

“Wen-guniang,” he greets with a salute of his own that Nie Mingjue copies at his side a beat later. “Wangji has an invitation to extend to Wei Wuxian, and Nie-zongzhu and I agreed to accompany him.”

“An invitation?” At her prompting, Wen Ning hurries to hold out the document itself for her to take, which she does with another skeptical glance at the three of them before she opens it to read the contents. Lan Xichen watches her face for some sort of reaction to the news that Wei Wuxian is invited to Jinlintai, but if she has any sort of feeling about it she does an admirable job of hiding it.

“Wei Wuxian!” she calls without looking away from them. Lan Wangji’s spine stiffens and goes miraculously straighter, as if Wei Wuxian’s name alone is enough to electrify. The man in question waves a mud-stained hand in their general direction without turning around.

“What is it, Wen Qing? A-Yuan is playing with Popo right now.”

Lan Xichen glances up at Nie Mingjue at that with a question in his expression though he knows Nie Mingjue likely doesn’t understand that any better than he does. Nie Mingjue isn’t even looking at him anyway, as it turns out. Instead he’s looking around what they can see from where they are – a crumbling stone structure built into the side of the mountain. Crude wooden huts made from the subpar lumber available in the twisting dead forest around them. Tired farmers in clothes that look one hard winter away from falling apart. And over it all the pall of death and decay that’s inescapable in the midst of a field that had once been, as the name suggests, nothing but a hill of bones and restless spirits.

“You have…guests.”

Lan Xichen looks ahead again in time to catch Wei Wuxian whipping around so quickly he nearly falls off his perch at the edge of his ‘field’ of lotuses, thriving right there in the middle of the Burial Mounds, against all odds.

“Lan Zhan!” he squeaks, looking utterly shocked to see Lan Wangji, let alone him or Nie Mingjue. “What are you-“

“Rich-gege!!!” A tiny voice suddenly cries and Lan Xichen is startled to see a small blur come running from the direction of one of the other fields to plaster itself against Lan Wangji’s leg.

“Hello A-Yuan,” he says softly, almost too softly for Lan Xichen to hear, and he drops his hand down from behind his back to pet the top of the boy’s head, smoothing flyaway hairs back from his little face.

“A child, Mingjue,” he whispers, though the volume can’t hide his horror. This is the ‘band of Wen rebels’ the Jin Sect is so afraid of? This is who remains as the target of their revenge and hatred?

“I see him,” Mingjue replies quietly, jaw working with a little flutter of the muscles in his cheek. “I see them.”

“Rich-gege Xian-gege said you wouldn’t come back but you did!! Pick up, please!”

Lan Xichen wonders if it’s possible for his eyes to go any wider as Lan Wangji reaches down without hesitation to curl his hands under A-Yuan’s reaching arms and, heft him up onto his hip where the boy promptly clings and lays his head down, seemingly content to hug and be held.

“Lan Zhan what are you – what are you all doing here?” Wei Wuxian tries again as he stumbles out of the mud of his pond to traipse across the space between them, cleaning his hands rather ineffectually on his robes hiked up around his hips. When he draws level with Wen Qing she holds the invitation out to him with a look in her eyes that Lan Xichen can’t quite decipher. It’s the first time she’s taken her eyes off of them since she had intercepted them, and Lan Xichen is a little embarrassed to realize he’s relieved to no longer be the subject of her sharp attention.

“They brought you this. You can go see your sister.”

“What?!” Wei Wuxian scrambles to open the letter, eyes flying across the page as he reads whatever it was Lan Wangji had written – knowing him it’s probably as bare-bones as possible, conveying only the necessary information and nothing else. It doesn’t take him long at all to look back up from the page with suspiciously shining eyes. “Is this real?”

“Mn. It was agreed upon.”

“Jiang Cheng agreed to this? And Jin Zixuan?”

“Mn.”

For an alarming moment Wei Wuxian looks like he’s in desperate need of a place to sit, but he rallies quickly and all of a sudden his smile is absolutely blinding, the way it had been once when he’d been a younger, much more carefree teenager coming to study in Gusu. When his smiles had turned Lan Wangji’s ears red and made him glare daggers through whatever poor wall or floor or passing disciple happened to be in his line of sight.

“Oh. Oh wait come in, come in, you’re making everybody nervous out here,” he says with a laugh that doesn’t sound..entirely genuine, but another glance around the settlement proves that he’s got a point. The Wens are all watching them now, tasks forgotten in the need to watch for approaching danger. “Lan Zhan sorry about A-Yuan, he probably won’t be willing to let go for a while.”

“No need.”

“Aiyah. Fine, fine. Come in. Wen Qing and Wen Ning, you too. Come on, let’s go,” he says and just like that Lan Xichen realizes with amusement that they’re all being shepherded into…a cave. It’s a spacious cave, the dilapidated remains of the palace built into the mountain, but it is still effectively a cave. There are tables set up in what’s clearly a communal dining area and Wei Wuxian bustles ahead of them to swipe some accumulated dirt from a couple of the benches before gesturing for them to sit.

“Ah Zewu-Jun, Chifeng-Zun, apologies for my manners,” Wei Wuxian says with a salute for both of them that Lan Xichen is quick to smile away. “We’re not exactly ah…equipped for visitors such as yourselves, I’m sure you understand.”

Lan Xichen takes a seat at the table between Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji, who has now transferred the child clinging to him to his lap where the boy sits looking at the two strangers to him with wide, curious eyes.

“Xian-gege, Rich-gege brought friends this time,” he observes and earns himself an affectionate ruffle of his hair from Wei Wuxian.

“He did! And they’re very important friends so behave for Rich-gege, alright?”

“A-Yuan is better behaved than you are, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing retorts in what Lan Xichen is sure is meant to be their usual banter, though it comes out flat and, if he’s not mistaken, too stressed for the joke to properly land. Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does then he is still adept at charging through any sort of tension with his usual charm.

“So rude, Wen Qing, we have guests,” he says with a little flourish as he finally takes his robes down from where they’re hitched up and pats them into place where they belong. It becomes even more apparent how threadbare they are with the full length of them on display. He sits down quickly enough and the Wen siblings move to stand behind him, arms crossed protectively over their chests though rather than looking intimidating, as he’s sure other people would find them, to Lan Xichen they just look…afraid.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says softly, and though Lan Xichen knows his brother well enough to know that there’s a whole thought tucked into those two words, he doesn’t know them well enough to know what those thoughts are. And that is strangely disconcerting, to realize that there’s an entire facet of his brother that he doesn’t understand anymore.

“Lan Zhan, not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course you know I am. But why are you here?” Lan Wangji flicks his gaze towards the invitation now stowed safely in the front of Wei Wuxian’s robes and the man rests a hand gently over it, though his resolved expression doesn’t waver. “This could have been delivered by post, or by messenger. The townspeople know Wen Ning, they would have gotten it to him if you had left it for us. Why did you come here in person? And - no offense Zewu-Jun, Chifeng-Zun, but..why are you part of this too?”

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning speaks up softly, surprising everyone else in the room. “I don’t think you’ll be safe in Jinlintai.” It’s something of a non-sequitur but somehow the thoughts must be connected, and Wei Wuxian muster understand how they are judging by the way his entire demeanor changes into something much more alert.

Lan Xichen sighs softly as Wei Wuxian’s sharp gaze fixes on them, but it’s Nie Mingjue who speaks up first.

“Jin Guangshan wants your amulet.” It’s bold and barefaced in the way that Nies tend to be and though Lan Xichen is used to it, it still makes him feel a bit squirmy and anxious in the pit of his stomach to hear something so unpleasant laid out so plainly. Not that he’ll ever let it show, of course.

“Well he can’t have it. Next.”

“He thinks the Wens here are dangerous.”

“Clearly we’re not. Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and I are the only cultivators here. Besides, we’re barely feeding ourselves, let alone preparing to take on the Jins. Next.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji cuts in, and this agonized tone, at least, Lan Xichen recognizes.

He interrupts before they can begin any sort of argument. “Wei-gongzi. During the discussion of whether or not you should be present for Jin Ling’s celebration, Jin Guangshan presented concerns about both the amulet and Wen-gongzi. You can’t deny that these are valid concerns for those whom you consider to be enemies.”

“I don’t have enemies unless they make themselves my enemy,” Wei Wuxian shoots back, all trace of boyish excitement gone from his face now. “None of you were there that night in Qiongqi Pass. Did any of you even visit the work camps Jin Guangshan put the Wens in? Did you see, with your own eyes, the field of corpses they created because they knew that the cultivation world would turn a blind eye?” There’s ringing silence for a moment before he repeats his demand. “Did you?!”

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing warns, low and quiet.

“If Jin Guangshan is so bored of watching over Lanling and sending his cultivators to protect the interests of his own Sect then by all means, create an enemy of me. I knew what I was doing when I took these people away and brought them here. I know what people say of me, and of the Wens, do you think I don’t? Words are nothing. Fear is nothing. But if someone acts against me and those I’m sworn to protect, can I not defend myself? Can I not defend them?!”

Lan Xichen curls his hands into slow fists on his knees under the edge of the table as Wei Wuxian makes a wild gesture in the general direction of the rest of the settlement, beginning to look desperate as he works himself up.

“You saw them with your own eyes. They’re just farmers, they’re just regular people, the kind that we’re supposed to protect! Popo plays with A-Yuan to keep him occupied while we work in the fields and Fourth Uncle makes wine from the fruit that grows here and everyone here is just trying to survive, yet you would rather see them all dead for the sin of having once been related to a man who has already been killed for his crimes?”

“Xian-gege,” A-Yuan says softly from his perch in Lan Wangji’s lap. Lan Xichen turns an agonized glance on him to find him reaching out for Wei Wuxian with one chubby little hand, his eyes still wide though now it’s with something like concern rather than the curiosity of before.

“A-Ning, take A-Yuan back to Popo,” Wen Qing instructs. Her brother obeys with a nod, reaching down for A-Yuan even as the boy tries to cling to Lan Wangji.

“Want to stay with Rich-gege!”

“I will come find you soon, A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji promises with something fierce and immovable in his eyes. “Go with Wen Ning.”

There’s a quick flutter of activity as the child allows himself to be carried away, and as Lan Wangji shifts his weight to get comfortable again Lan Xichen doesn’t miss the way he subtly positions himself a little closer to Wei Wuxian. It’s hardly noticeable, but it puts him on the same half of the table as Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing still standing behind his shoulder, and when Lan Xichen meets his brother’s eyes he knows precisely whose side he will stand on should it come to that.

He desperately hopes that it won’t.

“This invitation to Jin Ling’s celebration is a trap, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian asks and unlike the boyish cheerfulness of before, or the anger of mere moments ago, his tone is now as cold and blank as the stones outside.

“No,” Lan Xichen protests, though it’s undercut significantly by Lan Wangji replying with a simultaneous (and much more convincing), “Yes.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“Jin Guangshan wants the amulet. He knows you will not miss a chance to see your family. He will demand you hand over your amulet and Wen Ning to show that you are no longer a threat to him, and if you refuse I do not know what he will do.”

“He just wants to destroy the amulet and the…weapon,” Nie Mingjue cuts in, gruff and clearly unhappy with the way things are going but it is, surprisingly, Wen Qing who rises to meet him.

“You can’t seriously tell me you buy that? That a man like Jin Guangshan can be handed something powerful and decide, out of the goodness of his heart, to get rid of it,” she snaps, eyes once again cutting and her hands clutched in her sleeves where her arms are crossed. “And that ‘weapon’ is my brother, who, in case you haven’t seen, is in full control of himself and his thoughts. He counts as one of us, and destroying him now would be to finish the murder that those guards at the work camp didn’t finish.”

An uncomfortable silence drops in the wake of her anger and in it Wei Wuxian rises slowly from the table to stand next to Wen Qing, his arms crossed over his chest as well. Lan Xichen can’t help but flick a cautious glance at the hand closest to the flute tucked into his belt but at least for the moment it doesn’t seem like he’ll be reaching for it.

“If you’ve come as nothing more than Jin Guangshan’s messengers then I’m taking you right back down the mountain, one way or another. I’m protecting these people, and that is not up for negotiation. You can tell Jin Guangshan that yourself.”

“Wei Ying-“

“Lan Zhan this isn’t directed at you. It’s them.”

Lan Xichen blinks slowly as he realizes that Lan Wangji’s subtle positioning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Wei Wuxian after all. Or, he supposes, it’s equally likely that Wei Wuxian simply trusts Lan Wangji. Despite their differences, their arguments, it’s possible that Wei Wuxian sees now how ardently Lan Wangji wants him to be safe. How far it seems he’s willing to go to ensure it.

“So what’s the deal, if we leave you keep Wangji here as leverage?” Nie Mingjue barks. Lan Xichen’s eyes go wide as he abruptly realizes he’s lost all control of this conversation and it is heading in a dangerous direction much more quickly than he could have expected.

“Lan Zhan is free to come and go as he pleases, he won’t hurt us. He allowed you to come here with him this time so I assume he trusts you to do the same. But if seeing the truth is going to do absolutely nothing to change what you want and what you’ll help Jin Guangshan accomplish in wiping the Wens off the face of the earth then we’re done here, and you will not be welcome back.”

Lan Xichen can’t deny the dread settling thick and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and only a small portion of it has to do with the resentful energy in the air. Wei Wuxian has proven himself time and time again as a formidable opponent, and while Lan Xichen doesn’t think that it’s necessary to see him as an enemy he knows that the majority of the cultivation world would disagree. It’s plain to see, though, that even should that be the case there’s no force on earth that could turn him aside from the path he’s on. He said it himself – his purpose now is to protect the Wens, and if the cultivation world sees that as a reason for him to die alongside them then he will.

“We’ll help you,” he promises. Rash, perhaps. Uncharacteristically sudden of him, perhaps. But it’s actually not really, in the end. Lan Wangji has been worried about Wei Wuxian ever since that banquet in Jinlintai and his disappearance with the Wens later the same night, and so Lan Xichen has been worried about his brother since the same moment. And not only that, but he still remembers Wei Wuxian as he had once been. Where now it seems everyone wants to paint him as a devil, as an evil mastermind, as a cruel and power-hungry tyrant amassing an army of the dead, all Lan Xichen can see is a young man whose heart has always been kind, who cultivates with evil things he can’t understand but who’s using it to keep a group of helpless people safe. It is not such a sudden change of heart for him to wish to see everyone around him treated well and fairly.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue says, startled by his declaration, but Lan Xichen puts a hand on his knee beneath the table, a silent promise to explain himself later.

“We’ll help you. The Lan Sect. What do you need?”

Wei Wuxian is staring at him, mouth hanging open rather comically, and so it’s Wen Qing who speaks up after a moment though Lan Xichen can see in her eyes that she doesn’t trust him yet.

“Food. Blankets for A-Yuan and for the elderly at least. And we want to be left alone.”

“These are the only demands you have?”

“What else could you possibly offer us, Zewu-Jun?”

“Fertile land,” Lan Wangji supplies, eyes beginning to alight with the first dangerous edges of hope. “Protection. Homes.”

“In Gusu?” Wei Wuxian cuts in to ask. There’s weight behind that question, a hostility, but when Lan Wangji looks at him all Lan Xichen can see is his desperation.

I want to bring a man to Cloud Recesses, his brother’s voice echoes softly in the back of his mind. Bring him there and keep him safe.

“It would not have to be permanent, necessarily,” Lan Xichen supplies, hand tensing a little more on Nie Mingjue’s knee when he feels the man shift restlessly beside him. “But it could be. None of this should have happened to you and your family, Wen-guniang. Will you allow the Gusu Lan to begin attempting to make reparations?”

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing look at each other but whatever passes between them in their glances is beyond Lan Xichen’s comprehension.

“I will think about it,” she replies after a moment and Wei Wuxian turns on his heel to put his back to the rest of them, effectively hiding whatever expression he makes in response. “Come back in three days.”

It’s a clear dismissal and so Lan Xichen stands, Nie Mingjue at his side. Lan Wangji doesn’t move, his eyes fixed firmly on Wei Wuxian’s back, but he doesn’t seem to be included in the dismissal anyway. Wen Qing simply leads them to the doorway again where Wen Ning is standing patiently on the steps outside, likely to keep any eavesdroppers away.

“We’re escorting Zewu-Jun and Chifeng-Zun back to town,” she informs him and he falls in quickly at her side.

“Where is Lan-er-gongzi?” Wen Ning asks with a concerned glance over his shoulder. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. He and Wei Wuxian might finally be ready to stop acting like they don’t want to be together,” she replies so flippantly that Lan Xichen is suddenly grateful for Nie Mingjue’s hand at his elbow as he stumbles ever so slightly on the uneven terrain in response.

“O-oh,” Wen Ning stammers out and Lan Xichen is abruptly sure that if it were still possible he would be blushing. “Well that’s nice I suppose. Is Wei-gongzi going to go to Jin Ling’s one-month and see his sister?”

Wen Qing glances back at them at that, though what she’s measuring them for Lan Xichen isn’t exactly sure. “Whose idea was it to have him there?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Wangji’s.”

“Oh yes then I daresay he’ll go no matter if it’s a trap or not,” she remarks so dryly that she actually gets a chuckle out of Nie Mingjue, which is startling to say the least. Lan Xichen looks at him, trying to gauge what he’s thinking, but he’s got his expression carefully locked into stern, unreadable lines. They continue on in silence down the mountain and back to their inn in the town. Only when the Wen siblings have departed and he and Nie Mingjue have retired to their rooms does he unbend enough for Lan Xichen to see that he’s deep in thought.

“Do you think Jin Guangshan truly means to destroy the amulet?” Nie Mingjue finally asks when Lan Xichen has waited him out long enough for him to speak his mind.

“In all honesty no, I do not. At least not right away, and power corrupts. We already know he is a man of vices, it’s no secret that power is one of them.”

“Can you really offer the Wens land and protection without consulting anyone else? The elders, your uncle?”

“It will have to go through more official channels I suppose to actually begin the movement – we’ll need to send resources to keep them clothed and fed while travelling and cultivators to keep them safe, after all. But yes, that is something I can offer them. I will make my case to the elders with what we saw here today, Wangji is my witness, and you could be too. They’re nothing but humble citizens who simply bear the curse of an unfortunate name through no fault of their own. So many Wens have already paid the ultimate price for what Wen Ruohan has done. There’s nothing and nobody in this last remaining group to be so afraid of that they must be eliminated. The only part that should worry the rest of the sects is that Wei Wuxian is at the helm, but their fear of him is slightly misguided as well. I believe once Uncle and the rest of the elders know the truth they will allow such peaceful people to live and work in Gusu.”

“Hm. Well alright then, the Nie will support you.”

That pulls Lan Xichen up short and he stares at Nie Mingjue with undisguised shock. Nie Mingjue at first only raises an eyebrow at him, but after another moment he exhales sharply and shakes his head as if bedeviled by a fly.

“I still don’t like the Wens but I can’t in good conscience lead them to the slaughter. If you want to protect them, then protect them. And I’ll protect you. Maybe we can finally take Jin Guangshan down a notch or two in the process, I definitely won’t be opposed. Nor do I think Jiang Wanyin will take much issue with it either, not if it can get him his brother back. And we already know Jiang Yanli will support anything that repairs Wei Wuxian’s reputation, and Jin Zixuan will support anything that makes Jiang Yanli happy. I’d say the winds are in our favor if we act too quickly for Jin Guangshan to counter it.”

Lan Xichen can still only blink as Nie Mingjue finally cracks his expression to smile ever so slightly and offer him a wink.

“You should have agreed to strategize with me days ago, none of this would have been so surprising, I thought it may become an option. Now it’s just up to Wangji to talk Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing into agreeing.”

“I believe he will find it in himself to be persuasive, and Wen Qing at least is quite sensible. I believe she understands their position well and knows that it is not sustainable for much longer. Or that even if it were, it would be better if their people could get the care and treatment they need to thrive, not just to survive. I believe they’ll agree.”

“Well we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t return once during the three days Wen Qing asked for them to wait. On the morning of the fourth day Wen Ning returns for them to bring them back up the mountain where they find Lan Wangji kneeling in the dirt with A-Yuan perched happily in his lap chattering away to Wei Wuxian, who is sitting far closer than necessary to listen as the rest of the Wens bustle around them, hurrying from field to field at a much quicker pace than mere days ago. Wen Qing meets them again at the entrance to the main clearing, arms once again crossed over her chest as she eyes them up like a hawk studying its prey.

“We accept. We’ll all come to Gusu with everything we can carry to start things anew.”

And just like that Lan Xichen gains a new branch of his family in the most unlikely of places.

[failedintsave]

I tried the MTL pairing generator for rarepair month...aaaand it told me to stay in my lane lol. And then it told me to write some Rachel/Roy Cornickleson which I just don't think I'm ready to take on 🙃 So here's some Skwistok set just before Doomstar that I've been fiddling with.

(gets just a little nsfw near the beginning)

Stages

Everyone handles grief differently.

Skwisgaar groaned as muscular arms pushed him against the wall, the reinforced metal door to his room on the submarine banging shut as they cleared the threshold. Hands tangled in his hair, holding him in place while lips and tongue and teeth worked over his neck. He clung desperately to the body pressed against him, fingers twisting in blue cotton material and yanking it upward. The mouth latched onto his throat pulled away as the t-shirt was hauled over his head and Toki's fevered eyes found his before rushing forward again, mashing their lips together with sloppy abandon. He gripped Skwisgaar by the belt, half dragging him as they stumbled their way to his bunk and collapsed. Breathing came in gasps and sighs as Toki's weight pinned him down into the mattress, the pressure both exhilarating and mollifying, an anchor to hold onto as the life he'd known for so many years turned upside down and twisted away in the wind.

He'd never given much energy to grief. Life was just a punctuated string of losses in the long run. Loss of innocence, loss of trust, loss of opportunities. It was all meaningless, really. In his experience, something new always came along to fill the space so why dwell on mourning what you couldn't have back?

Boots thumped to the floor, kicked off in haste. His shirt was peeled away before sturdy hands lifted his hips to free him of his jeans, calloused fingertips gliding back up his thighs and making him shiver. Toki climbed up to kiss him again, hungrily, as if trying to swallow him whole, their teeth knocking against each other. Skwisgaar ran his hands over every inch of skin he could reach, the hard lines of Toki's shoulders, the raised ridges of overlapping scars on his back, hip bones where they ground down against his own. Heat pooled low in his belly like magma aching to erupt. He wanted this, needed this right now, more than he'd ever needed anything in his life. How long had they danced around this, stealing moments and blaming it later on booze or post-show adrenaline, walking right up to the line and peeking over before backing away again? In the name of preserving band dynamics? A lot of good that had done, they'd still ended up where they are now, Dethklok tipping over the precipice into self-destruction.

Another loss to add to the list.

Toki pulled back, glacier blue eyes raking over Skwisgaar's features with manic light, chestnut locks of hair falling in disarray to frame his face. Skwisgaar reached up and tucked a strand behind his ear and Toki's expression shifted, the wild yearning softened into something gentler, less wolfish. He sat up to kneel between Skwisgaar's legs, hand skimming from his collar bone to his navel and leaving a trail of fire, over the inside of his thigh and dipping beneath, pausing until Skwisgaar breathed his assent, whispered his name.

Fingers tested gingerly, gradually increasing in depth and pressure before he gripped him by the waist and hauled him onto his lap. Skwisgaar canted his hips, lip catching between his teeth at the feel of Toki against him, his pulse hammering in his ears. His head angled back into the pillows and a wordless moan escaped his throat when Toki eased forward, back arching as lightning raced up his spine. Skwisgaar's fingers knotted in the bed sheets as Toki released a shuddering breath over him, rocking into him slowly, building rhythm into a steady push and pull.

Loss of professional boundaries. Definitely not something to be mourned.

The devastating sensation of fullness where they joined drove all coherent thought from Skwisgaar's mind and his eyes rolled back under closed lids, panting nonsense and expletives, begging for release. His toes curled as Toki matched stokes with his hand to the tempo of his thrusts, coaxing him through his climax until tipping over the edge after him with a whining sigh. Call and response, Skwisgaar thought dazedly as his superheated skeleton melted into jelly. When he could open his eyes again, his gaze landed on Toki's face above him, watching him with an openly heartsick expression.

"I… hads to do dat… at least once before dis ams all over." The broken whisper settled over him like a burial shroud.

Skwisgaar shook his head, holding out his arms. "Come heres."

Swallowing thickly, Toki obeyed, winding his arms under Skwisgaar's shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Skwisgaar shifted to find a comfortable position, their sweat-slick chests sliding against each other as he angled slightly onto one side, hand cradling Toki's skull to keep him near.

"Seem pretties stupids we aments been doing dat dis whole time, honestlies."

Loss of time.

Toki held him tightly and Skwisgaar felt the tremor in his grip. He rubbed his cheek against the crown of the other man's head, humming tunelessly as he waited for him to speak, knowing already the fears plaguing his mind. He'd faced them often enough in his younger days, even if the scenario now was more complicated. It was hard to compare wondering where your next gig, your next meal ticket, might come from to wondering where to go after you'd already stood at the top.

Sniffling preceded the feeling of wetness against his shoulder, Toki mumbling against his skin. "What happens now? Ams we all just gonna says 'fucks you, see ya laters' now dat de band ams done? Even now dat dey tells us we gots to plays music to saves de world?"

Skwisgaar fiddled with a strand of brown hair for a moment before answering. "Well, I don'ts know abouts all dis saves-de-woirld business. But whats I do know ams band break ups. And, euughh, ja dat ams a pretty standords opseratings procedures."

"But does it has to be likes dat? We coulds all stays pals, right?"

"Dat ams...compslickateds." He dropped the lock and let his hand fall to Toki's shoulders. "Somet'ing like dis...people tends to ezpecks yous to euughh, picks sides. It ams messy. And it never warks out, t'ings always comes apart in de end."

Loss of the longest working relationships he'd had in his life.

Toki said nothing, so Skwisgaar continued if only to fill the silence. "But it coulds be worse, you knows? We gots more moneys den god, what's so bad what cants be fixed wif dat?" The statement produced a cold feeling trickling down behind his ribs, like swallowing a heaping spoonful of snow. "Nones of it acktualies matters. Just goes on to da next t'ings."

"I just... don'ts know what to does if dere aments a Dethklok."

"Whatevors you wants! You coulds buy de whole stores of airplane models, or you coulds builds you own splasharoonies water parks. Hell you coulds probablies starts a new bands wif dose guys from dat T'underhorse group."

"No," Toki murmured, face still compressed against Skwisgaar's neck. "I don't wants a new band. Dis was da one."

The possessive satisfaction he felt at those words tied his stomach in guilty knots.

"Ja it ams was a pretty good gigs…"

Toki shifted, laying his head on the pillow next to Skwisgaar's, his forlorn gaze searching his face for answers. Skwisgaar rolled so they were laying face to face, legs still twisted under the sheets.

Not everything was tied up in the feud that caused the band to split. What if it didn't have to be a total loss? Surely there were parts here that could be salvaged.

"Okej...so who says we haves to do anyt'ings at all?"

Toki's brows cinched. "What you means?"

Maybe, just this one thing, he could keep.

Skwisgaar's lips curved with the ghost of a smile. "I's already mades it to de top, ams de fastest guitarist alives...coulds be I shoulds just quits while I gots de title, ja? Retires, takes my ball and goes home wif it."

Toki snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Builds mineself a giant house up in de mountains or somet'ing. Or travels and just fucks off on de resgiduals forever, not worries about a deadlines or demos ever again. Plays guitar just for funs."

He saw his grin mirrored on Toki's face as the other man nodded dreamily.

"Maybe you...comes wif me?" Fluttery nerves tickled behind his sternum. "If you wants to."

Toki's eyes widened. "Wait. Whats?"

Just this. He could be happy with this.

"Y-you means it? You aments just messings with Toki?"

He shook his head. "How long dids we waste before nows? For not'ing. I'm sick ofs waitings. Let's just goes."

A heartbeat passed, and then Toki's mouth was on his again. Less frantic this time, hopeful rather than desperate. He cradled Toki's jaw, taking his time as he returned his affections, deepening the kiss and tracing languid strokes over his neck, his shoulders, his chest. Their limbs wound together in a twisted bramble, bodies drawing tightly together, fitting like puzzle pieces.

A repetitive, discordant riff sounded from the pile of clothes abandoned on the floor and Toki's head jerked away. Flashing an apologetic grin, he rolled away to fish his phone from his pocket, sliding his pants up loosely around his hips.

"Sorries, be rights back!" He whispered, pressing the screen to answer. "Oh hei, Rockso!*

"Hows do you even has signals down here?" Skwisgaar called after him as he stepped into the hall, then flopped back onto the pillows to stare at the ceiling, counting the shiny rivets in the metal plating.

This was doable. Tomorrow they would bury more than just a mentor, they would lay to rest their careers as the biggest metal band in existence. The world at large would mourn their passing, but Skwisgaar wouldn't dwell on what's done and over. Not if he had new prospects to look forward to. Something always came along, and he never looked back.

"I tolds Magnus dat I woulds sit wif hims tomorrow." He heard Toki's muffled voice through the crack he'd left in the door.

A shadow passed over his thoughts at the name, like someone walking across his grave. It was uncomfortable to say the least, to have their former guitarist back in the fringes of their lives. Toki had a habit of finding friendship in questionable places, but where the clown was mostly an annoyance and sometimes a financial drain, his relationship with Magnus left Skwisgaar apprehensive. It didn't ease his mind when Toki insisted the older musician was different now. How could he know? He hadn't lived with the man, hadn't walked on eggshells during every rehearsal or songwriting session, hadn't watched as he plunged a knife into a bandmate.

But Magnus had also saved Toki with his insulin. He'd been there for Toki as a shoulder to lean on when the band had started to fall apart, too preoccupied with their own issues to spare a minute for their youngest member.

So maybe Toki was right. Things change; he'd never expected that a wedge could be driven between Nathan and Pickles far enough to end their friendship in such a catastrophic way, but here they were. And if Magnus still harbored any resentment for the band, their breakup was probably a balm to the old wound of rejection. What else could he wish on them? He was probably loving this.

The door scraped shut and Toki slipped back into the blankets gingerly, as if expecting Skwisgaar to be asleep. When he saw that he was still awake, Toki leaned in with a grin.

"Sorries...now, where was we…?" He murmured, capturing Skwisgaar's lips tenderly. "Oh ja, you was tellings me how we's gonna runs away togedders into de sunsets."

"Pfff. Dat am hardlies what I saids."

More kisses peppered his cheek and jaw. "Dats what I heards."

"Well I always knew yous was tone deafs, I didn'ts realize you ams just all de way hards of hearingks." His arm encircled Toki's back as the brunette nestled in again.

"Tells to me about wheres we gonna goes. Tells me about our house on tops of de mountains."

Skwisgaar snorted. Of the two of them, his was not the more vivid and fanciful imagination. But staring up at the blank canvas that the brushed metal panels of ceiling created, he envisioned a future for them to share. They squabbled playfully over locations and home design styles. They named off outlandish things they would fill their home with, like an even bigger ruby metronome or a trampoline room or an indoor pool shaped like a guitar and filled with champagne. They listed places they'd toured that they wanted to visit again, and locations they hadn't been yet but had always hoped to see.

"Can we gets a cat?" Toki asked suddenly, making Skwisgaar laugh airily.

"If we haves to?" He laughed again as Toki nodded against him. "But I'm not cleaningks up after it, dat ams all you, pal."

"Okei." Toki sighed deeply, settling in more comfortably. "Okei. I feels a lots less scareds now about all dis."

His hand glided up from where it had been resting at Skwisgaar's hip to lay warm over his heartbeat.

"I'll miss Dethklok. A whole lots. But now I t'inks I ams acktualies looking forwards to what comes next."

Still staring at the steel plates above, Skwisgaar grinned at the pictures they'd painted in his mind.

"Ja, me toos."

He covered Toki's hand with his own. However much they stood to lose after tomorrow, his heart felt lighter at what they were about to gain together. There was no reason to dwell on what was gone.

Everyone handles grief differently.

Laying on his bunk, Skwisgaar's eyes roamed the scuffed plate ceiling overhead, lingering on rusted rivets and water stains. The imperfections seemed to move and writhe like crawling insects under the influence of whatever handful of pills Pickles had given him. A half-drained bottle of vodka lay cradled against his chest, the mouth stoppered by his thumb. Fire burned in his belly from the alcohol, but cold fury pulsing through his veins tempered it.

He'd been prepared for Dethklok to end, had even accepted the idea that his career as a guitarist was over, diminished to a hobby. Playing guitar was his lifeblood, his purpose, and he'd been about to let that go. What had he been thinking? How had he gotten so wrapped up in fantasy that throwing away his entire self had seemed like a plausible course of action.

Loss of objectivity. Fortunately it seemed to be temporary.

He took a long pull from the bottle, dribbling a little and not bothering to wipe it away. Stupid Toki, needing to be comforted like a child with make-believe bedtime stories. He couldn't just man up and move on like everyone else, like Skwisgaar had been doing since he was a teen, finding his next audition, his next couch to crash on, his next temporary alliance with subpar musicians to make ends meet. It couldn't have been an easier landing for him either, no concerns about hunger or homelessness or deportation hanging over his head. He was set up for success and still couldn't handle it.

Fucking idiot needed so much attention, so much coddling, he'd even run straight into harm's way to try and make a friend. Of all people, he'd had to choose Magnus, that vindictive bastard. Of course he'd still been carrying a grudge, when had he ever let anything go in the past? And they'd known it.

A pair of divots on the ceiling stared back at him, one dark, one catching the light. Glaring back at him mockingly, winking at his impotent rage.

They'd known. They'd known, they knew, they knew.

Skwisgaar knew. And he'd said nothing.

Then he'd watched again, frozen, as Magnus drove a knife into someone close to him.

Skwisgaar thrashed upright, a strangled roar bursting from his lungs as he flung the bottle at the wall. He kicked at the bedside table bolted to the wall, denting it from below, then spun around to tear the sheets from his bunk and hurl them across the room. This wasn't the trade he'd prepared for, this wasn't the deal he'd made with himself.

His eyes fell on his Explorer propped in the corner. He reached for it, wrapping both hands around the ebony fretboard, holding it like an axe and swinging it against the wall. He bashed it into the floor, the dresser, screaming until his throat was raw and the guitar was cracked into useless chunks of wood and fiberglass connected by twisted strings. He dropped the pieces in a heap, sinking to the ground to lean against the side of his bed, his shoulders heaving with labored panting.

The door of his room scraped open, and in his periphery he saw a figure standing, backlit by the dim red glow in the corridor. Broad-shouldered, straight hair dangling about their head. His heart seized for a moment before the figure spoke, shattering his hallucination.

"What are you doing in here?" Nathan's gravelly voice was cautious.

Skwisgaar didn't turn, eyes still focused on the debris ahead of him. The stainless steel guitar strings seemed to wriggle like worms in grave soil, consuming the corpse of his instrument. He waited until he caught his breath before trying to respond.

"What does it looks like I'm doingks?"

Nathan shifted in the doorway. "Losing your mind."

He chuckled mirthlessly.

Loss of sanity? Maybe.

"You've been locked up in there a while. Maybe you should, you know. Come out here. With the rest of the band."

"Fucks off."

Nathan didn't move. Skwisgaar felt the urge to rage at the other man rise in him, to shout in his face, demand to know why it had taken him so long to patch things over with Pickles, why he let it go so far that he'd upset all of their lives so horrifically. But the feeling passed, his body drained from his previous outburst and from trying to filter a pharmacy's worth of substances through his liver.

"We're gonna find him, you know. Charles has people everywhere looking already."

One shoulder rose and fell in a halfhearted shrug. "Whatevers. Who cares."

They could have been a four-piece. If he really wanted to rage at someone it would be his past self. How different would things be right now if he'd never given that gutter rat a chance after missing his audition time? How much of what they achieved would they have really missed out on? How many rerecording sessions and stupid arguments and publicized blow outs could have been avoided? What would they really have been missing?

He certainly wouldn't mourn the loss of a constant source of annoyance. Of an immature tag-along with a hair trigger temper. Of a loud and boisterous whirlwind of silliness and color and sincerity.

Loss of his shadow. Loss of his muse. Loss of his best friend. Loss of his future. Loss of…

Loss of…

He couldn't breathe.

"Just leaves me alone. Please." He gritted out, proud of the steadiness of his voice as his stomach began to roil and his eyes prickled with tears.

Nathan hesitated. "Should I...close this?"

Skwisgaar nodded and after another moment the steel frame clanged shut. His vision blurred as tears welled and spilled over, his breath returning in short gasping puffs which rolled over into sobs that rattled his frame.

They'd had one day. Not even a day. An evening. Hours.

He wept until he was sick, vomiting clear liquor and not much else onto the floor next to the remnants of his guitar. He wept until his tears were spent and his head throbbed in tandem with his heart, even though he didn't understand how the muscle still carried a beat when the rhythm had been taken away.

Eventually he had nothing left. His face felt swollen, his eyes were gritty. Skwisgaar rolled to his hands and knees, avoiding the puddle of sick as he rocked up onto wobbly legs. He looked at the door, wondering if the others were still awake. If they were sitting in the lounge, drowning their sorrows. He felt like he wore a lead weight around his neck, bowing under the pull of it. It might be better just to sleep.

He turned to the naked mattress, but a scrap of blue on the floor near the foot of the bed caught his attention. A faded cotton t-shirt lay where it had been discarded. Skwisgaar stared at it for several long moments. He stepped closer to the bed, to the shirt.

And kicked it underneath the frame and out of sight before turning for the door.

He'd never given much energy to grief. Life was just a punctuated string of losses in the long run. Loss of purpose. Loss of self. Loss of connection. Loss of…

It was all meaningless, really. So why dwell on mourning what you couldn't have back?

[nour386]

A Picnic In the Woods

Stanford And Fiddleford have a nice day out with one another and enjoy a picnic in the Gravity falls woods. 

(also on ao3!)

This is my secret Santa Gift for @pirably who wanted some Fiddauthor fluff. nothing explicitly romantic, just the boys being happy. I hope I met your expectations!

~~~

The sun shone through the tree branches above as Stanford led the way through the woods. There was a cheerful spring in his step when he looked back and saw Fiddleford not far behind, with a picnic basket in hand. A whole day free to themselves, no anomalies to study or machines to work on. His mind ran wild with possabilities.

     ‘Perhaps we’ll find a new cryptid. Or Perhaps we’ll find a secret city of fairies and become crowned kings or maybe-’  

 Stanford was pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle pull on his shoulder.

 “You’re getting ahead of yourself.” Fiddleford smirked.

 “You don’t know that.” Stanford crossed his arms.

 “You had that look on your face. The one you have when you’re thinking of finding a magical creature.” Fiddleford pointed at his own face, making a wide-eyed look of wonder with his jaw hanging open. “Kinda like this.”

 “That’s an absurd and frankly poor imitation of-” Stanford’s statement was interrupted as a fairy flew past, leaving sparkling dust in her path; and he found himself making the exact expression.

 “You’re adorable.” Fiddleford ruffled Stanford's hair. “Come along, times a wastin’ and our lunch ain’t gonna stay warm forever.”

 “Are you saying that a brilliant inventor such as yourself hasn’t already designed a device that could not only keep meals warm for hours, but also feed the user?” Stanford asked, spreading his arms in the air.

 “Sounds to me like someone is dropping not-so-subtle hints that he’s too lazy to eat at appropriate times.” Fiddleford lowered Stanford’s left arm out of his face. He slid his hand down the researcher’s arm so that they were holding hands.

 Stanford paused, looking down to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding what his hands were feeling. His cheeks flushed red when he saw that they were indeed holding hands. He felt Fiddleford interlace their fingers; and his cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson.

 “You-uh-I-” Stanford rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

 “You’re like a little kitten.” Fiddleford cooed. His smile grew further as he watched his boyfriend squirm under his affection.

 “How’s that? If it’s about my sneezing again-”

 “I was going to say that you’re both adorable, and easily held. Just like a little kitten.” Fiddleford pulled Stanford closer to leave a soft kiss on his forehead.

 “How could you take advantage of my distracted state in such a way, Fiddleford?” Stanford said in mock shock. “I trusted you in my vulnerability, and you treat me like this.”

 “I just realised something else that makes ya just like a kitten,” Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “You’re overly dramatic when it comes to the tiniest things.”

 “This talk of cute things reminded me of something,” Stanford said.

 “Oh do tell,” said Fiddleford.

 “I’ve been hearing rumors about creatures who are so cute that any who feast their eyes upon them are compelled to obey their every command.” Stanford spoke excitedly, there was a shine in his eye.

 “Well we can rule you out from being one of them.” Fiddleford said smugly.

 Stanford shook his head. “You were just singing my praises on my cuteness, what made you change your mind so suddenly?”

 “Oh I didn’t say that.” Fiddleford corrected. “All I’m saying is that after this morning, I don’t think you have the power of manipulating people with your cuteness.”

 “Listen, getting Stanley to leave his bed before noon is like trying to break down a wall using a sewing needle.” Stanford shrugged.

 “Anyway, you were saying something about a creature that, despite all logic, is somehow cuter than you?” Fiddleford said.

 “Hmm,” Stanford tapped his chin before snapping his fingers. “Yes! Now my informant was a gnome, so this information might not be too reliable. However I am planning a small expedition next week to find out more.”

 The pair continued to walk through the woods. Stanford happily rattled off information about the many wondrous creatures he intended to study and the potential discoveries that were waiting for them in the coming months.

 All the while Fiddleford listened intently. While he did not hold the same enthusiasm that Stanford had for the unknown, he did enjoy listening to the way Stanford’s voice sounded when he got excited,he way he’d talk faster as though all his thoughts wanted to get out at once.

 Even now, watching Stanford go on about the feuds amongst the many fairy kingdoms and how he hoped to bridge peace to (or at least document the fall out). Fiddleford felt the sheer glee that dripped from Stanford’s voice as he spoke. It was infectious, and Fiddleford found himself matching the spring in his boyfriend’s step as they walked together.

 “Oh! We’ve almost arrived.” Stanford pointed at a gap amongst the trees ahead of them.

 “Thank the Lord.” Fiddleford sighed.

 “You aren’t tired already are you?” Stanford teased.

 “I’m sorry, were you the one carrying our picnic basket the entire trek?” Fiddleford shot back.

 “I offered to carry it but you said you wanted to,” said Stanford . “You’ve no one to blame for your tiredness but yourself.”

 Fiddleford huffed. “You’ll understand when we get there.”

 The pair walked through a gap between two tall redwoods. Before them was a small clearing. A small pond sat near the centre, the rest of the ground was covered in short grass. With the sky above and the trees on the far side of the clearing provided a good amount of shade to hide away from the heat.

 “Now      this     is very picturesque.“ Fiddleford rested his hand on his hip.

 “All it needs is a hill and it’d look like every picnic in those old stories.” Stanford led the way to the shadow of the trees.

 “Knowing this place I doubt we’d be able to climb up a hill without having to answer some arbitrary number of riddles.” Fiddleford said as he followed Stanford’s lead.

 Stanford laughed. “With a mind as sharp as yours? I doubt you’d need to worry about riddles.”

 “Speaking of my sharp mind.” Fiddleford pulled on Stanford's hand, bringing his boyfriend to a stop. “I might have built something to help us with setting up our picnic.”

 “Oho?” Stanford raised his brow. “The floor is yours.”

 “Just a moment.” Fiddleford stepped forward, letting go of Stanford’s hand. This made the researcher give a small whine. Fiddleford rolled his eyes as he placed the picnic basket down on the grassy floor. He picked up a long stick from the ground beside him and walked back to Stanford's side. “Now, prepare to be amazed.”

 Stanford watched with bated breath as Fiddleford took the stick and tapped the side of the picnic basket three times. Four thin metallic arms emerged from beneath the blanket covering the basket and began to unfold it. With the blanket out of the way, Stanford could see a small robot, rectangular in shape with the aforementioned limbs connected to it. It dusted the blanket before gently laying it on the grass beside the basket. Pressing its hands against the ground, the robot lifted itself out of the basket. It rested its metallic body on the blanket and reached for the food hidden in the basket. In no time at all the robot had placed the impressive spread of food across the blanket.            

 A roast chicken was placed in the centre of the blanket, surrounded by many sandwiches. They had a variety of fillings, ranging from the simple ham and cheese to more strange, like pickles and mayonnaise.  An assortment of fruit, that had been freshly bought from the market the previous day, was placed in a small bowl in the centre of the blanket. Next to that bowl was a bag of jelly beans, as well as a pair of fizzy drinks that Fiddleford knew Stanley wouldn’t miss.

 “Pretty impressive eh?” said Fiddleford.

 Stanford was unable to answer as he stared in awe at the robot that, having finished its job, neatly folded itself back into the picnic basket.

 “Hello? Stanford? You in there?” Fiddleford waved his hand in front of the researcher’s face.

 “Fiddleford, that was amazing!” Stanford jumped up and hugged his boyfriend tightly.

 “Stanford- you’re- crushin’ me-” Fiddleford coughed.

 “Oh, my apologies.” Stanford let him down with an embarrassed smile on his face. “But yes, you did an impressive job with that machine.”

 Fiddleford took a deep breath. “I’d have said you were only saying that because I was your boyfriend, if it weren’t for you almost breaking me in two.”

 “I was caught up in the moment,” Stanford said. “I was handed the opportunity to watch one of your machines in person. What was I meant to do? Give one of those painfully boring claps like they do at those golf games that Stanley skips past on TV?”

 “You might have a point. That did feel a lot more personal than just a clap.” Fiddleford tapped his chin in thought. “But a warnin’ beforehand would be preferred.”

 “That can be arranged.” Stanford grinned. “But, before we continue that discussion, how about we enjoy this spread before the ants get to them?”

 “Not magical ants I hope.” Fiddleford shuddered.

 “You’ve heard of fire ants? Well these are ice ants!” Stanford wriggled his fingers sinisterly. A cheeky smile spread across his face as he continued. “It’s said that their bite can result in frostbite and perhaps even soggy sandwiches if left out in the sun for too long.”

 “Then we better get to eating.” Fiddleford rolled his eyes, taking a seat on the blanket.

 Stanford stayed standing for a moment. Choosing to savour the sight of Fidddleford sitting in the shade of the trees with a small smile on his face. His golden brown hair shone in the flakes of sun that made it through the branches of the trees that towered above. The engineer was reaching for a sandwich before he realised that he was alone on the blanket. He looked up at Stanford and sighed.

 “You shoulda brought your camera.” Fiddleford said. “A picture would last much longer.”

 “Now where would the fun be in that?” Stanford sat opposite his boyfriend.

 “The fun would be in eatin’ before those ‘ice ants’ get to your food.” Fiddleford threw a sandwich at Stanford.

 “Fine fine.” Stanford chuckled. He unwrapped the sandwich before checking the filling. “Ugh, did you grab any random combination of ingredients from the kitchen and put them together?”

 “Only for a couple of them.” Fiddleford smiled. Leaning forward, Stanford caught a peak at FIddleford’s sandwich and recognised pickle slices and mayonnaise poking out of the bread. “Makes this into a fun little game of sandwich roulette.”

 “Either that, or I have to seriously consider buying you a cookbook.” Stanford sighed. He took another bite of his sandwich. It had a thick slice of cheese between two different flavoured spreads of jam. It was a curious mix of sweet and savoury, but not as bad as he was expecting.

 The pair sat together, enjoying the warm afternoon, chatting idly as they ate. They tossed the sandwiches back and forth, daring one another to try out the strange combinations that Fiddleford had concocted. The pair laughed at the way their faces twisted with disgust after a biting into the sandwiches. From sardines and jelly to cucumbers and cheese, the pair passed around the strange flavours before moving on to the main course of their picnic.

 While Fiddleford had been proud of the terrible sandwich flavours had concocted, he also knew the value of providing a real meal. He handed Stanford a knife to cut up the chicken, while he prepared the proper sandwiches for them. A quick spread of mayonnaise on a clean slice of bread along with a generous cut of chicken made a simple but tasty chicken sandwich. With Stanford’s nod of approval, Fiddleford made a couple more before digging in himself.

 Having finished their lunch, the pair lied back on the now empty blanket and enjoyed the stiff breeze that was blowing through the clearing. They watched the clouds, or Stanford did at least; he had one hand in the bag of jelly brands and the other gently holding Fiddleford’s hand. The engineer rested his head on his free arm and listened to Stanford talk about the different clouds types, and how the many different anomalies viewed them. How some clan of trolls saw storm clouds as warning from ancient giants and would hide themselves underground. Despite his best efforts to stay attentive, the comfort that came from Stanford's voice, the warm sun and his full belly, made him succumb to his drowsiness. Fiddleford gave a small yawn before falling to sleep.                  Stanford's eyelids felt heavy. He rolled over to find Fiddleford snoring softly. With a small smile, Stanford wriggled closer to his boyfriend so that their foreheads were resting against one another. Feeling a little bit cheeky, he gave a small peck on Fiddleford’s nose.

 ‘A short nap won’t hurt,’ he thought, before letting himself fall asleep.

 ~~

I’d like to thank my beta reader @introvert-no-chameleon for their awesome work with helping me fix my grammar.

[twilitty]

Moonlit ch.2

This is the second chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every week and a half. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3.9k words

previous chapter

big thank you to my beta reader @effervescentlyirrevocable who has given me the absolute best criticism and helped make this chapter so beautiful :)

Bella Swan is introduced to a possible new friend and receives a gift. The doctors new family may not be as well adjusted to small town life as Charlie would like.

Chapter Two

The next morning I wake up to a growl of thunder beating against the inside of my skull. I had a night of thankfully restful sleep for once, only waking up to get a glass of water. My hands are clasped against my chest, fingers knotted in annoyance as I hold back what likely will be a spill of expletives. Why must there always be noise? Why can I not sleep soundly and awake soundly, just once?

I open one eye experimentally, hoping the sun has already arisen and I won’t be missing out on any leftover sleep. My room is shrouded in darkness. The expletives, swear words crude enough to make a priest gag, spill out in a muttered breath and my hands squeeze against each other once more before reaching for my alarm clock. The red numbers blink back at me and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the light before I read the time. Nine in the morning. I look back to the window where my blinds are drawn closed, but still no light, even filtered through the canopy of clouds, peaks at the edges. 

The thunder, which had gone quiet after waking me up initially, rolls again for a moment before silencing itself. Only, was it thunder? It sounded heavy, like machinery but with a deeper growl. Was there construction nearby? I didn’t recall any on my few trips up and down the street, and I question why there would need to be any construction anyways. It’s not as if this is a booming neighbourhood with a subdivision being built. 

Charlie knocks against my door, quieter than yesterday. “Bella, it’s time to get up.” You’d imagine that with my age being nearly twenty and my status as a legal adult I’d be allowed to choose my own time to wake up. My annoyance dies down quickly when my thoughts bounce back to Phoenix, waking up early each morning to drive Mom into her early morning classes. Nine in the morning really isn’t that early, in fact, it allows me time to get some chores done before class. “Someone has dropped by.”

My lips contort into an annoyed pucker. Who would have stopped by? Mom had warned me before the move that nothing but rumours and nasty mold comes from Forks. Apparently her quick marriage to Charlie, and even quicker pregnancy with me, was enough gossip to fuel conversations for years. I remember a trip to Forks at eight years old, a woman had stopped my mother in the grocery store and asked her over for coffee. “They just want the inside scoop,” Renee had told me afterwards, “Give them anything and they’ll find a way to make it ugly.”

My bare feet brush the ground and a flash of cold spreads up my shins. Apparently, even in spring, the weather is dangerously cold. I tell Charlie I’ll be downstairs in a moment, pulling on a pair of jeans and thermal socks. I was hoping for a relaxing day alone, just me, my sweatpants, and the laptop. I compromise on the socks, regardless of who is downstairs, my toes will not be cold today.

I pull the blinds open, the lawn stretching out beside the house is bathed in shadowy darkness despite the morning hour. The forest that lines our property, secluding us from the neighbours, is eerie and mysterious. The green tones that I initially found alien and too bright are now gone and replaced with navy. I wait a moment, staring into the trees, my thoughts rambling into fairytale imaginations. 

My brain conjures an image of a man, tall and insidious, stepping out of the tree line, long claws attached to his fingers and a nasty grin revealing pointed teeth. His shirt is ripped in the front, a long tear reaching from throat to navel and from inside the shirt tufts of hair stick out. No, not hair, fur. He growls menacingly. 

I close the blinds quickly and blink against the pictures my brain throws at me. 

The landline rings downstairs and startles me, a jolt of anxious adrenaline surging through my cold feet and up into my heart. Maybe one of the reasons I enjoyed Phoenix’s barren, plain landscape was that I would not be subjected to such terrible thoughts. I remember being twelve and watching Scream with my mother, she was on a horror movie kick and had rented a whole stack of DVDs for us to watch. That night when I was tired but my eyes refused to close as I didn’t want to imagine what could be lurking outside my bedroom window. Crawling into my mother’s bed, she ran her warm palm against my forehead and hummed a song until I calmed down. 

“Bella,” she had said quietly, the nurturing lilt of her voice expanding my heart, “We live in a desert. You can see for miles and miles and miles, if some bad man was coming we’d see him from forty minutes away.” I giggled quietly into the comforter, our bodies pressed against each other in near sleep and my mother’s hands maneuvering through my hair with expertise. 

Now, I look out at the grassy lawn from a crack between the blinds. It resembles the set of a slasher movie, the forest borders it with every possibility my imagination can muster. I can see a man from four seconds away, not forty minutes.

There's a chorus of male laughter from below and I sigh, assuming this is my cue to go downstairs and meet with whoever has stopped in.

Charlie is sitting in the living room, facing me and his back to the television which is decidedly blank. On the couch is a head of glossy, black hair. Beside him is a wheelchair with an older man sitting in it, a mug clasped between dark hands. I curse whatever forces brought these strangers into the house so early, I am not in the mood for interaction. I was hoping for a bowl of oatmeal and a quiet morning. 

“Hey!” Charlie braces his hands on his knees and pushes out of the armchair. His face is split in half with a grin. I can’t recall him smiling this large in the past week of my stay. The two men turn, facing me with warm smiles.

One of them is older, perhaps Charlie's age, his mouth creased with smile lines and his eyes wrinkled with sun damage. His skin is a warm russet brown, his eyes deep-set behind pronounced brows and a large smile. Bright white teeth stare back at me as my brain picks over his features, how do I know this man? I know almost immediately that he’s Quileute, from the Reservation to the west of town. I vaguely remember trips to the beach with Charlie and eating hotdogs over fires with some of the children from the area. 

“Do you remember me, Bella?” He asks in a deep, commanding tone. His voice transports me back to the beach, collecting colourful rocks with the other kids and being called to dinner. Billy Black. He lives in a small, red house with a large kitchen perfect for gatherings. He’s older than I remember, but my last time being here for any substantial time was nearly four years ago. 

“Dad, c’mon,” the boy says with a sarcastic eye roll. He stands from the couch, his height towering mine by a few inches and his broad shoulders slumped forward happily. I wonder how tall he’d be if he stood to his full height. His voice is deep, not as deep as his father’s, but still an indicator of the family resemblance. Where his father is strong and sure, this boy is aloof and casual. Jacob Black. “She hasn’t been back in ages, she probably blocked your nasty attitude out of her memory.” 

I bite back a smile, but Billy laughs and shoots Charlie a look that says, kids, am I right? I step forward and extend my hand to Jacob, who takes it gratefully in his own and gives a soft shake. His hand covers mine and is most definitely a few degrees warmer than I am. “Jacob Black, we used to make mud pies together.”

“Best in town,” Charlie adds in from the back of the room. I smile. 

“No, no, I remember you guys,” I tell the Blacks. “It just took me a moment.” Charlies sits back down in his chair and motions for me to take a seat. 

“Billy and Jake just stopped by,” my father explains. I sit beside Jacob on the couch, a cushion between us. But, even with the provided space and the lack of physical contact, I feel heat come off of him in waves like a radiator. I wonder if he’s sick. “Jake here is a mechanic.” A furious blush settles under the boy's brown skin as his mechanical skills are brought up, this is my first time hearing of his expertise. I remember his sisters being twins, both tall and beautiful with matching smiles. They were almost two years older than me, Jacob had followed closely behind and was only born in the same six months as me. Of course, now that I try to remember, the date falls short in my memory. It’s possible he has a career as a mechanic somewhere on the Reservation, but he mustn’t work in Forks. I hadn’t seen a single mechanics garage in town. 

“No, no,” he looks between me and my father with an apologetic smile, “it’s just a hobby. Something for fun.” Billy tsks at his son, shaking his head in a way that makes me believe this conversation has occurred before. 

“Hobbies can bring in money, hobbies can turn into jobs,” the older man says with a scolding tone. Jacob just shakes his head crookedly, not responding. Charlie takes this as his cue to interrupt the trajectory of the conversation, and I’m grateful. I haven’t spoken to these men in nearly four years, that last place I want to be is in the middle of a family feud. 

“Well, now, there was a reason I brought up Jake’s skills,” Charlie interjects with a wave at the large boy next to me. “Bells, go take a look outside.” My fingers twitch anxiously in my lap at being thrust into the center of the conversation. I was hoping I could slide under the radar here, not end up in the middle of it. 

It takes great restraint for me to get up from the couch and not stumble over my ankles in the act, my clumsiness reaches new heights when I’m being watched by a room of people. Even if there are only three people in the room. The window at the end of the room is open, the curtains pulled to the side, and when I reach it my gaze falls on a group of kids biking down the street with a rainbow of helmets. Apparently, the dark sky doesn’t scare them the way it does me. 

They pedal quickly, little screams of delight just barely audible through the thick glass of the living room window. They pass the porch and disappear behind a large red truck parked out front of the house. I blink. It’s still there, rounded fenders and shiny door handles, long bed, ancient grill adorning the hood. It’s beautiful. “Is that your truck, Billy?” There’s a chorus of laughter behind me, the men’s baritones mixing and producing a flaming blush starting at my neck and creeping up into my face. I turn to look at them, my stomach clenching as I turn away from the beautiful vehicle. “What?” 

“It’s yours, Bella,” Charlie tells me. The breath I was holding leaves my lungs through my gaping mouth, I struggle to close it and take an experimental inhale. “Bella?” I turn and look back out the window, the glorious truck still sits there staring at me from across the dark lawn. I can only imagine how beautiful it is in the sunlight.

“I- it’s mine?” I ask. Another series of laughs echo through and then footsteps come up beside me, Jacob stands looking out the window. “You made it?” I question, looking up at him. 

His shoulders shake silently and his lips press together as he tries to compose himself, I’m not sure why he finds my comment so funny but it reignites my blush. “I fixed it up, yeah. But, don’t get too excited. The thing runs at sixty miles max, push her further than that and you’ll be walking home.” 

We all go outside quickly, me leading the pack with an excited skip in my step. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall on my face or stumble over my words as I spoke my thoughts aloud. “It’s so pretty, I love it! Jake, I have no idea how you could make it look so perfect.” The truck sits against the curb, its red paint flaking in places around the tires, but even more perfect than I could have imagined. 

The sky is a disturbing shade of grey, a fact that irritates me more outside than it did in the house. Why does the weather have to ruin such a perfectly good moment? But I spend the majority of my time on the vehicle, petting its sides carefully like I might damage it. Finally, seemingly having had enough of me quietly admiring the vehicle, Billy tells me to hop in and check it out on the inside. 

Jacob produces a set of keys, no automatic locking mechanism, and twists it in the truck's door handle. He holds the door open for me, producing a hand to help me in. I take it gratefully, stepping up into the driver’s seat and letting myself sink into the seat. Jacob closes the door on me, but my thoughts are lost and focused only on how much I love this truck. 

“So,” he says after opening the passenger door and climbing up next to me, “You ever driven a truck before?” I shake my head, fingers curving experimentally around the thin steering wheel. I can see myself now: driving down the empty highway, the sun blinding against the dry pavement, window down and hair blowing, radio blaring. It’s exactly what I needed, a way for me to get around without needing to borrow the cruiser (which, yes, is illegal) or have Charlie drive me around. 

“I can give you lessons,” Jake offers, fingers clasped in his lap, drumming a tune against the opposite knuckles. “If not that’s cool, but she drives a little funny.” “She?” I ask, eyes leaving the steering wheel momentarily to watch his face. He notices, the serene expression dropping from his face and replaced with a quick upturn of his lips. 

“Uh, yeah.” He palms the back of his neck roughly and seems almost apologetic. “I have a thing for cars, y’know, so naming them is kinda part of the deal.” I can barely make out a faint red tinge over his cheeks. “Wait, hold on,” I can’t contain the giggle that slips out but firmly press my lips together before trying again. I can only imagine the toothy smile I’m giving him, a girl all too excited over some old truck. Only, this is the perfect old truck. “What’s her name?”

“Betty,” he responds sheepishly, his hand still massaging the back of his neck. “But if you tell anybody that I’ll have to kill you.” 

“That’s okay, Betty is our secret.” 

And, just like that, I now have a secret with someone. Does this make us friends? Regardless of whatever it makes us, my heart sings happily from within my chest, excited to think that maybe Forks won’t be as lonesome as it’s been this past week. Maybe Jacob and I will become friends and bond over Betty and I won’t only have Charlie and school and books. 

“Well, before you accept her turn the keys,” Jacob instructs. I oblige, setting the keys in the ignition and giving them a gentle twist. A roar of mechanical thunder envelopes us. I nearly leap out of my seat in surprise, the loud rumbling of the engine settling in my ears and blocking out all other noises. Jake says something but I can barely hear him from over the thunderous growl of Betty. I turn the keys back and the truck dies down with one last rumble. “She’s loud,” he says obviously. 

“She’s perfect.” 

Jacob hands me a spare set of keys after we get out, telling me that he’ll be back the day after tomorrow to give me my first driving lesson in the truck. Charlie was all too excited with that idea, even though I already have my license and know how to drive. In fact, other than illegally borrowing the cruiser with Charlie’s permission, I have never committed an illegal act involving a vehicle. If memory serves me correctly, Charlie has two speeding tickets from his youth. 

But, I don’t argue against Jake's offer. In fact, I thank him profusely and promise to pay him for the lessons. “Bella,” he says in an exasperated way, as if we’ve known each other for years and I always say such supposedly outlandish things. “Why would you pay me for something I’m offering to you?” 

We’ve stopped in front of the Blacks vehicle, a large brown and beige truck which seems to only be a decade newer than the red one. This isn’t saying much for the brown vehicle as the red one could be from the fifties. Billy is wheeling his way down the driveway with Charlie walking beside him, laughing emphatically at something his friend had said. 

“That’s crazy,” I respond with a shake of my head. “That’s like me not paying you for the truck.”

“Yeah, I know.” I take pause at this, the words welling up inside my brain and the meaning lost to me for only a moment. Then, like finally finding the missing puzzle piece under the table, I understand what this means and the picture is clear. 

“You- I- This truck isn’t free.” The words stutter out of me, the first two the beginnings of messages I abandoned immediately after starting them. This truck, though old, is not cheap, and neither is Jakes’s skill. I should pay him for labour if nothing else, but I know he doesn’t want to include that in the bill. He doesn't want to send me a bill. 

“It’s a gift,” he states simply with a shrug of his wide shoulders. Billy pulls up beside me, slapping away Charlie's hand as he tries to adjust his chair for him.

“Careful, Swan,” the older Black warns with hostility. “I have more muscle in these arms than you do in your entire body. Touch the chair and you’ll get what’s coming to you.” 

Jacob helps Billy into the passenger seat, folding up the wheelchair and securing it into the truck bed with quick hands. Charlie stands beside me, shooting fiery threats back and forth with his friend until Jacob climbs behind the wheel. “Storm coming through,” Jacob says with a wave towards the dark sky. “If you need any help with anything, tying stuff down or moving let me know.” Charlie thanks him for the offer and I lean in to thank him again for the truck and the lessons. I also assure him that the argument over billing is far from over and that he’ll get an earful the next time we meet. 

The rest of the day is spent restlessly. I log into my online classes but my attention is continuously claimed by my truck in front of the house. The sun never shows itself, content with hiding behind the cloud coverage. I’m sitting in the living room when Charlie gets home for dinner, my book discarded on the couch somewhere beside me. I reach for it once I see his cruiser pull into the driveway, deciding it would be better to look busy than to look like I’m obsessing over my new means of transportation.

“Bella?” He calls, the door shutting behind him with a creak. At some point I’ll have to oil all the hinges in the house. It’s that or I go clinically insane from the constant noise. 

“Yeah, just in here.” 

He comes in bearing a brown bag with the Forks Diner logo written on the side. “I brought dinner, it’ll be on the stove.” I nod and thank him, telling him that we can eat together once he’s down and out of uniform. “Well, actually, I won’t be eating until a bit later.” His moustache twitches irritably and he disappears into the kitchen to drop the food off. 

“Are you meeting with Billy?” I ask, knowing this isn’t the case. It must be an issue with work causing him to feel stressed. And when he comes back into the living room from the kitchen I’m able to see the tension holding his shoulders in place. “Did something happen at work?” “It’s nothing to worry about,” he assures me, but his words do anything but. So much for police chief being a boring job. “Just those new kids in town, the doctors children,” he waves a hand in the air as if trying to gather his thoughts. “Kicking up trouble in their first week here, something about racing.” 

“Oh.” I pull my knees under me and turn to face him fully, my arms hanging over the back of the couch like a child. 

“Anyways, no big deal I’m sure they’re just used to city life or something.” But, my fathers tone indicates that he most definitely does not believe his own words. In Charlie's books a bad apple is always a bad apple, and he’s probably dreading all the other trouble these kids will kick up. “I’ve just gotta go check-in with them, make sure it doesn’t happen again.” His hand moves towards my arm, as if to pat me goodbye but it stutters midair, falling back to his side awkwardly. 

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, biting on it as he mutters a goodbye and leaves through the front door without looking at me again. I wonder when this will get any easier. 

Renee left Charlie a year into their young marriage, taking me away to live with her in Arizona. She had given me partial reasons over the years for her leaving, talking of them being too young, the weather too wet, how she wanted a life where she could be free from responsibilities. I’m not sure whether it dawned on her that a child constitutes a responsibility, but she took me to every yoga class and rarely left me with a babysitter. 

My mother was never too keen on Forks, not that I fault her for it, the weather leaves much to be desired and there’s virtually nothing to do. But, because of her disliking I rarely visited my father, my first extended visit being when I was twelve and stayed the entire summer as Renee travelled with her then-boyfriend. I came back to a scrapbook of kissy photos and pressed leaves from her travels, all I had to show for my trip was a runny nose and a strong distaste for hamburgers. One can only eat so many burgers before the novelty wears off.

taglist: @musingsofvenus @maybesandohnos​

[haveanotherkpopblog]

Vive la Revolution

Prologue

Genre: Cyberpunk!AU, Dystopian!AU, Gang!AU, Rivals-to-Lovers!AU

Pairing: TBA

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Sexual Situations

Masterlist || Next Part >>

Society fell when the game came out. It was supposed to be a game for children, where they could let their imaginations run rampant. The game was meant for them to have an escape from everyday life. But then they didn’t stop playing. They spent all day in the game. Nothing else mattered except the game.

The game--the game wasn’t like other games. It was the future of virtual reality. It was a game where you didn’t need to stop to sleep or even use the bathroom. Your consciousness was transferred into the game, putting you in a deep slumber, a coma almost. The only downfall was you had to leave, until you didn’t have to.

The kids turned to the black market for medical IV’s so they could keep playing. Crime began to rise significantly over the mere months since the game’s initial release. The police did their best, but with limited resources and limited money, there was only so much they could do.

Then the adults started playing. In an attempt to save their children, adults entered the game. The only problem was, they never left. The curiosity of what had captured their children’s minds so effortlessly and quietly. Slowly, the adults stopped leaving the game. They followed in their kids’ footsteps, buying IV’s and locking themselves away in the game.

Businesses began shutting down from the lack of customers and the employees seeming to vanish into thin air. Life began slowing down, the only thing thriving in the dying country was crime. The police slowly began to stop doing their jobs, letting the country run rampant with illegal activities.

The worst of it was in the capital. The most powerful people, the socialites, lived there, including the manufacturer of Virtual Paradise-- the game responsible for capturing half the nation’s mind. The game went world-wide, and soon everyone who was anyone had purchased the game. People, desperate to escape their lives, stole the game from anywhere they could get it. The company, Tempestechnologies, had become the company.

However, that was the capital and all major cities of the world. What was really scary was the rest of the country that couldn’t afford the game. Or if they could, they were smart enough not to buy it. With the world and the nation in chaos, the country had been divided into three districts.

The first was the JYP District. It covered most of the coastline and was the mediator between the other two districts. The leader of the District referred to herself as Queenie. As the only female leader, she gave herself a fitting title. While rather small in size, she was a force to be reckoned with. She and her husband had made a quiet, but successful, living working mainly with oversea gangs. She kept the other two districts as close allies.

The second was the SM District. This District covered the northern side of the country. It just also happened to be the richest amongst the three Districts since the Capital fell within their territory. The leader was Leeteuk, a successful businessman turned into an even more successful gang leader. He knew where the game would lead the country from a young age, and he’d been preparing ever since for the inevitable.

The last District was the scariest. YG District was made up of the southern side of the country and what little bit of the coastal region JYP didn’t control. The crime rates were so high, the police had completely given up and worked for the District’s leading gang and the leader. The leader--the leader was so many things, finding one word to describe him was impossible. G-Dragon had done so many unthinkable things, had seen the unimaginable, and he had laughed at it all.

Now while Queenie had aligned herself and JYP with SM and YG, the two didn’t like each other. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her, there certainly would have been a civil war unlike any before. That’s where the story started, at the end of a feud that started before either of them reached double digits.

Queenie sat in one of the clubs in her District. For the best outcome, everyone needed to meet on neutral territory. That meant her territory, which she didn’t mind at all. Her turf, her rules. She smirked, eyes scanning the club, skimming every face she recognized and every face she didn’t. She watched as A, one of her informants, flirted with some random guy at the bar. He wasn’t bad looking, but Queenie knew A was simply biding her time.

“Are you sure they’re going to show?” JB, Queenie’s second in command, sat perched at the edge of his seat. He was staring directly at her, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. His drink sat on the table in front of him, barely touched as the ice slowly watered it down. She smirked, reaching to grab her own glass off the table.

“Have patience. They’ll show up.”

As if on cue, Mandu, JB’s personal bodyguard, escorted four men in. Mandu had dark brown hair parted away from his face. His muscles bulged against his tight shirt, giving everyone a clear image of his strong physique that detoured most people, as long as he kept his mouth closed. Once he opened his mouth, any intimidation the other party felt disappeared. Even with his deep, intimidating voice, Mandu was simply too sweet and kind for his own good.

Leeteuk sat in the chair opposite of Queenie. His pink hair fell into his eyes, making him squint and occasionally toss his head. His suit jacket was undone, revealing the tight, black dress shirt that hugged his toned chest. It was a well known fact that he had quite the fascination with her. Whether it be because of her stunning beauty or the power she held was of little consequence.

Next to him was Suho, his second in command. Suho was to keep himself more put together than Leeteuk did when she was around. His black hair was combed away from his face, and his suit was well-put together, albeit more casual than what he usually wore. They were supposed to be more casual, relaxed, with each other. Hence them meeting in some bourgeois club. And that was strictly on Queenie’s request.

Behind them were their bodyguard, arms crossed over their chests as they eyed Queenie and her subordinates half-heartedly. They never saw her as a real threat. Whether it was because of their alliance or because they truly believed she wasn’t a threat to anyone was unknown to her. But she knew she could handle herself, and should the time ever come, she would show them just how well.

“Gentlemen. Welcome. I hope the journey wasn’t too hard,” she greeted.

“Seeing you again is worth every second,” Leeteuk said, shooting her a wink. Queenie peered over her glass, sparing a glance to Suho who was staring at Leeteuk with a slight scrunched face. He rolled his eyes, taking a prolonged sip from his cup. “I only wish it was under better circumstances.” She carefully set down her cup.

“I think these are the best circumstances. You’re finally putting that silly little feud behind you,” she said. She leant forward, placing a delicate hand just above his knee, giving it a light squeeze. “You know how much I dislike conflict.” He watched her hand with a dark gaze, his leg tensing under her touch. Suho and JB shared an unimpressed look before they both took a sip of their drinks. Queenie pulled back, crossing her legs as she observed Leeteuk.

Leeteuk observed her too, taking in her now short hair, the subtle makeup around her smoldering eyes and luscious lips. His eyes trailed down her body, admiring how the dress hugged her curves and even gave him a glimpse of what the thin fabric was covering. She was temptation. He knew that, she knew that, he knew she knew that, and he was more than aware she used that knowledge to her advantage, yet he let her pull him in. What they knew was of little consequence to them.

“I see they’re just letting anybody in here now.” Queenie and Leeteuk looked away from each other to the three people that had entered the room. DaH, Queenie’s personal bodyguard, had brought in two more people for their little celebratory party. Her long blonde hair fell down her back as she shot a harsh glare to the pair she’d brought in. DaH wasn’t built like Mandu, she was small and petite, but she made up for her lack of bulging muscles with speed and agility. And unlike Mandu, when she spoke, her words were laced with venom.

G-Dragon gave DaH a cheeky wink, to which she replied by narrowing her gaze more. She shot Queenie an unimpressed look before moving to stand behind her. G-Dragon oozed confidence. His hair was a disheveled mess, dark marks covered his neck and most of his chest from what could be seen of his unbuttoned shirt. She gave Queenie a sly smirk as she stood to greet him, a smirk of her own on her face.

“Well we let you in here don’t we?” she teased. G-Dragon chuckled, leaning forward to place a kiss on her cheek. He shot Leeteuk a wink as he did so, enjoying seeing him get worked up from a small action. Suho leaned over to whisper to Leeteuk, calming him down somewhat.

CL, G-Dragon’s second in command, sat next to Suho. She had at least followed Queenie’s request. Her curled, blonde hair fell over one shoulder, exposing her back and drawing attention to cleavage.  She kept her eyes focused between Queenie, Leeteuk, and G-Dragon. She flicked her wrist, glancing down at her watch.

Suho, despite his best efforts to keep a bored air around him, watched CL carefully. He took in her poised posture and the unreadable mask that hid her emotions too well. He took in how her dress exposed her back, letting his eyes trail down the length of her spine. He felt his blood heat up the longer he stared at her back.

“I’m so glad we could have this little sit down,” Queenie said. She watched both men carefully, observing their subtle glances at one another. “I think it’s about time you two put this silly feud to rest.” Both men tensed at the statement, avoiding each other’s eyes. “JB, if you will.” JB cleared his throat, regarding each man and their associates.

“Queenie and I agree that the best way to show peace is to build trust. We’ve talked with each of you separately and from that we’ve come up with a plan. G-Dragon is being gracious enough to send someone to stay in the SM District for one year with absolutely no contact.”

“How exactly does that establish trust?” Suho inquired, leaning forward so his arms rested on his knees. “If anything, that causes more trust issues. One year to gather information to be used against us? I’m failing to see how that works in our favor.”

“Well firstly, the agreement is that our person lives with you for a year without any harm,” CL said, turning to look at Suho. “Meaning if you want to keep them locked in a dungeon, as long as they’re fed and clean, you can do so. Second, we’re not sending just anyone. He’s sending in his only living relative to live with someone he hasn’t gotten along with in years. If anything, that’s the most trust I’ve seen him give anyone.” Suho and Leeteuk both stared at her in shock.

“I wasn’t aware you had any family,” Leeteuk said.

“It’s not something I like to advertise. People like to use them against you. I’m sure you more than anyone can understand that,” he replied. “Now I’m sending them to show my complete trust. If and when they return, as long as they’re in good health and have been treated with respect and dignity they deserve, then I will let bygones be bygones.”

Leeteuk regarded G-Dragon carefully. Something wasn’t sitting right in the pit of his stomach. This seemed too easy. After years of them being at each other’s throats, G-Dragon was going to gift wrap his own blood to him? Leeteuk narrowed his eyes slightly, his fist tightening around his glass.

“I wouldn’t read too much into such a generous offer,” Queenie said. She leant forward, facing Leeteuk directly. “He’s giving you unsupervised access to the closest person to him, and all you have to do is keep them healthy and safe. If anything, I think you’re getting the better side of this deal.” She placed her hand on his knee again, tilting her head slightly and staring up at him with her big, round eyes.

“Unsupervised?” Suho said.

“Yes. One whole year of unsupervised access to them. YG will have absolutely no access to them while they stay with you,” JB said, shooting Queenie a pointed look.

“Don’t mistake me for a blissfully blind fool, Leeteuk,” G-Dragon said, pulling Leeteuk’s attention away from Queenie. “I don’t expect you to trust me or my family. So as a sign of good faith, they’re going in unaccompanied. Even their own personal bodyguard won’t be with them. That’s how you’re going to show me your trust. Return them to me unharmed and in good health, treat them like family, or at least better than the men you’ve so graciously returned to me before, and I won’t murder everyone in your district.” Leeteuk clenched his jaw. Suho leant over, lowering his voice.

“Wait. We can use this to our advantage. How much information do you think our people could get out of him? Who would know his deep secrets better than his own blood?” Leeteuk weighed Suho’s words carefully, slowly relaxing into his seat.

“So you want me to keep them for one year, three-hundred and sixty-five days, and then return them safely?” Leeteuk clarified. G-Dragon nodded, moving to lean back into his seat. Leeteuk drummed his fingers on the armrest, staring at G-Dragon thoughtfully. Something still didn’t feel right, but Suho had a point. His second in command gave him a subtle nod. Leeteuk smiled smugly, tossing his hands up slightly. “I have to agree with you Queenie, I’m definitely getting the better deal.”

G-Dragon smirked, outstretching his hand. Leeteuk grabbed it, giving him a firm handshake. Queenie clapped her hands together, a genuine smile on her face. JB let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Suho and CL shared a knowing look before turning back to the two leaders.

“I’m so happy everything’s worked out,” Queenie said, moving to stand up. “Now, I believe you gentlemen and lady have earned a night of relaxation. My club is all yours to enjoy.” She turned to G-Dragon, a smirk on her face. “I believe A is waiting for you downstairs.” G-Dragon returned her smirk, running a hand through his hair. Leeteuk held his hand up to the two District leaders.

“As much as I would love to, I should get back.” He and Suho, along with their bodyguards, headed towards the door. He paused briefly, turning to look back. “Just one quick question,” he said. “Who exactly is this relative of yours?” G-Dragon smiled, a genuine, scarily normal smile.

“My baby sister.”

[spilled-some-blood]

Can I get some Mark Hoffman? Just whatever comes to mind

Sorry this took me so long to answer, I have been feeling really ill lately

Summary: Mark has been near distraught since the result of Angelina’s murder, obsessed with that finding her killer, making her killer sufffer. After months of hostility between him, it all came to a head. And you couldn't let it end this way.

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Mark had been near distraught since the murder of his little sister Angelina. You never quite understood his obsession with getting revenge, to bring Angelina’s killer to justice, so badly. It was one of the only things he had talked about with any form of passion, his beliefs and opinions pushed to the side to allow for him to adopt a more placid demeanour, to keep quiet, smile and nod when asked anything. Talk less. Don’t let people know what you’re against or what you’re for. It was a phrase he’d uttered almost enough to be considered a personal prayer. One you’d heard enough to grow to despise. But never in relation to Angelina, where everything seemed to matter, for Mark to finally get a good rest. He had kill her killer, to bring Angelina to a full rest, and it was the only thing he’d worked so vigorously on for years and years. Losing that chance, you feared, was sending him to the brink of insanity.

Maybe if Seth had served a life sentence and not have been released… Maybe then he would have been less brash. After all, there was no denying that, even if the water had been boiling over for years now, for as long as you’d known Mark and loved him, he would never let go.

Since that day, one filled with furious writing from your long-term partner, Mark Hoffman trying to find this Seth person. You knew other people at the station worked like they were running out of time, but never had you seen your lover in such haste. Maybe if he hadn’t been as hasty, things would have turned out favourably, but alas…

This went on for months, sometimes simmering off, you hoping and praying that it would mark the end of the feud, but no, something else would reignite the fight, another insult from Strahm, an ill-spoken word from anyone at the station, hell, a glance the wrong way could spell an email long enough to lay, full length, down the stairs. Mark had managed to write an entire, itemised list of years of disagreements that he had had with Strahm, and that, while ridiculous, had been one of the more amusing letters to read.

But things seemed to come to a head not long after, despite this heated feud continuing on for far longer than it should ever have had to. The day had been quiet, for the most part, you brushing the knots from the hair of your daughter, Isabella, when Mark knocked on the door, peering into the room you both sat in. He looked exhausted, eyes dulled from lack of sleep, stress lines etched into his face, under his eyes, across his forehead, between his eyebrows that he furrowed far too often. But despite it being late into the evening, he was fully clothed, dressed immaculately.

“Is something the matter, my love?” You questioned, standing and leaving the hairbrush with your daughter as your hands gravitated toward Mark’s, squeezing them gently as he glanced to the ground.

“I’m heading out to meet Tapp, I hope to be home later in the evening.” He said, pulling you closer only slightly, eyes that seemed dull now filled with emotion, something just beyond your grasp, that wasn’t quite palpable enough to comprehend. Love? Fear? Relief? All of these at once? It was beyond you, but you wished to know.

Him meeting his friend and partner, David Tapp on such late notice seemed odd in itself, suspicion overtaking you, “Is something wrong?” You repeated, trying to identify the emotions hidden behind that stupid mask, that stupid fake smile and fake charm.

He shook his head, lying through his teeth, “Everything’s fine, I’ll be home by ten at the latest.” He assured, pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, “I love you,” were the last words he uttered before marching away toward the front door, his pistol on his belt.

It took only a moment for things to connect in your mind. David Tapp was on vacation, the pistol, the time, the utterance of love matched with such emotion behind his eyes. Your love was about to do something that you knew wasn’t going to end well, and you weren’t sure if he’d be coming back alive.

You found yourself dashing back into the room almost without realising, sternly commanding your daughter to remain put as you sprinted upstairs to find clothes that weren’t mere bed wear, something socially acceptable to wear outside of your home, to chase down your lover in. But, you didn’t even get the chance to begin a rushed search before a piece of paper on your shared bed caught your attention, rolled neatly with a ribbon tied around to keep it secure. Fear pumping in your chest, you snatched it up, sliding the ribbon off the the paper without undoing the ornate bow, eyes scanning quickly over every word as you unrolled the parchment, messy blotches of ink showing just how rushed Mark had been while writing this. And your suspicions were confirmed with every line, admissions of love, of desire to elope, to say much more than he could manage in a short goodbye. You had to stave off tears as you remembered the situation at hand, scanning for a location, anything to go off, to end this stupidity before it started.

Finally you found it, a subtle joke at the more flimsy laws. Were you going to be too late?

Disregarding whatever fears you’d had over ridicule based on your attire, you rushed back downstairs, letter still clutched tightly in your grasp as you slammed the door open and ran across the streets, frantically trying to remember where the nearest dock would be. It wasn’t often you would have to find it, but god forbid you having to run in the freezing rain just to stop your idiot lover from becoming a dead idiot.

Why would Mark agree to anything as brash as this? You knew him, he did not condone violence such as this, at least you didn’t think so. He openly discouraged petty stuff such as this, but now-

You pushed aside your worries and confusement as a large building came into view with your lover’s car outside it barely visible under the mere sliver of moon shining in the sky, an eerie white outline the best you could make out.

You couldn’t let this happen. You weren’t about to lose him over a criminal that got released too early.

Without a second thought, you were running across the road, car horns blaring as the rain fell hard down on you. 

You were gonna run out of time.

Your lungs screamed at you to stop and take a break but you couldn’t as you stumbled up the stairs to the building, slipping on how wet the stairs were. You watched the blood pour from the wounds on your knees but you ignored the pain and kept pushing yourself as you tried to open the door but it was locked.

Pulling the hairpin out of your hair, you started to pick the lock, a trick you had learned from Mark and finally opened the door running down the maze of halls. 

The screams were echoing in your mind, it was a man’s screams, hopefully not Mark’s. You pulled open door after door that went past you, hearing the screams stop and your heart practically stopped and you ran faster, you had to be quick.

You came across a door that you tried to open but it was closed, the only way to look in was a little hole in the window.

“Seth...” Was all you could mutter, your hand over your mouth as you looked at his organs that were on the wall and a giant blade that had cut him in half, “he did it... He actually did it...”

Your lover, the one with whom you had raised a child, who kept to himself but held so much love and care in his heart. The man who brought you happiness, provided a family, a daughter more beautiful than anything you could bother attempting to imagine, was a killer now.

The tears that had fallen whilst running returned more freely, broken sobs alerting someone to your presence. You didn’t care, shaking and gasping, trying to remember how to breathe, how to calm yourself, but nothing was working. Your exhaustion was catching up to you, making you weak as you tumbled back down onto the ground, your soaked body, wailing as hands held you, arms wrapped around your shivering, quaking form. You were too late. You hadn’t been fast enough. You had failed. Your screams echoed across the halls, only weakening as you ran out of breath, hyperventilating in your panic.

The next hour passed so quickly, like a dream, or a nightmare, more appropriately, you barely comprehended it. Mark holding you close to his chest, as he ushered you away to his car, saying he would be with you in a scond, solemn in his expression. A blanket, tears, alcohol, tears, wailing outside the bar, blood, tears. And like that they were gone. Not just Seth, gone in body and spirit, but Mark. Mark hadn’t been the same, taking more time at work, quiet, distant, easier to provoke. Mark could see the tears through your facade though, trying to cope with him being a killer now.

[sheerbeautyreigns]

DESIRE

Part 35

Things get heated in Vegas.

Paul gently stroked Joe's cheek, hoping to wake him. He groaned, moving his head off Paul’s chest. “Baby,”

“Huh?” Joe moaned, keeping his eyes closed. “Let’s go to bed. It’s almost one.” Paul nudged him a little more urging him to get up. He was so cute when he was tired, eyes squinting, trying to avoid the light, his hair messy. He threw off the robe that he had been wearing and crawled in under the covers, closely followed by Paul. His face warmed seeing Joe immediately pull the covers up over his naked body. Paul lay behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Joe nodded off pretty quickly while Paul was just happy to lay holding him until he eventually drifted off.

It was almost 8:30 when Paul woke up. He rolled onto his back and looked to his left. Joe was lying on his stomach, head turned to face him. Strands, of hair had fallen in front of his face. Paul could just about see the fresh stitches on his temple. He knew it was a simple accident but it didn’t stop him being pissed off about it. That and the fact that he didn’t find out about the Wyatt attack until the last minute. He had to contain his anger sitting next to Vince watching it all unfold. He knew Joe could take it but he had become so protective of him in recent weeks that he would do anything in his position of power to give him anything. He could also see the fresh scratches and bruises that had appeared throughout his arms, side and back.

Paul had always found marks sexy but only when he was causing them. It made him think about the first time when he looked at Joe in a different way. It was back in 2014 when The Shield were up against Evolution at the Payback PPV. That time when he, Randy and Dave beat Joe with kendo sticks, followed by a steel chair. Not only that but the very next night when he was beaten with a steel chair. It turned him on immensely and he had been paying special attention to him since but he never made a move until after they got to know each other better during their 2016 feud.

“What are you thinking?” came Joe monotone voice against the pillow. Paul’s eyes trailed up to his. “Just looking at your battle scars.” A lazy smile crept across Joe face. “I dread to think what they look like this morning, much less feel.”

“At least you can rest until Sunday.” Paul said trailing his fingers gently down his spine, down to the base of his back. “I’ll need it.”

“It’ll be worth it baby, to see you with that title again. It’s been too long.” Paul re-assured him. Joe cast his eyes downwards. “It is what you want, isn’t it?”

Joe hesitated before answering. He turned on his side, wincing a little. “I just feel bad for Drew.” He pursed his lips. “I mean, it was meant for him wasn’t it?”

“Yeah but he doesn’t know that. It wasn’t fully decided until I spoke with creative.”

“He’s worked so hard for it-” Joe started. “Hey, look, we all know how hard he’s worked. He’ll get it one day but not just yet. It’s your time understand?” Joe really did feel troubled by this whole set up. He felt that this was just being given to him because of his relationship with Paul and he knew a few people would realise that. Joe always wanted to work for his title shots. “Do you understand?” Paul asked again. Joe nodded.

“I don’t want you overthinking this whole thing or losing sleep about it. Just rest up this week and do what you do best on Sunday.” Paul said placing a kiss on his lips before crawling out of bed, naked. Joe turned on his back and smiled, checking out his sweet ass as he went into the ensuite.

He listened as Paul ran the bath and thought about what he had just said. Seemed he would have this no other way. Joe himself agreed that he had busted his ass for almost a year with no sign of a title shot so true, it was his time. He just felt bad that he was getting in over Drew considering how well they had become acquainted in the last month.

Paul came out of the bathroom and came towards him. “I’m running you a nice relaxing bath baby. It’ll help, if only a little.” He said sitting at Joe’s side as he sat up. “You’re too good to me.” The young man told him. “It’s only temporary, while you’re hurt. Wait until I get you to my place next week.” Paul smirked with a dark glint in his eye. “Can’t wait.” His lips curved into a smile as Paul’s hand curved around the back of his neck and motioned him towards him for a slow, sensual kiss. Joe got up off the bed. “Check on the bath.” Paul advised, smacking him on the ass.

Joe eyebrows furrowed as he checked out his back in the bathroom mirror. It was as bad as he thought it would be. Hopefully creative didn’t have any nasty surprises in store for him come Sunday.

Carefully he eased himself into the bath. The heat of the water increased the pain in his back initially but he started to feel more relaxed as he lay back. He cupped the water in his hands, releasing it onto his chest and lay with his head back, eyes closed. It was so relaxing, he almost fell asleep again. Paul appeared at the door. His face softened when he saw Joe in the tub. He looked so peaceful. He couldn’t imagine wanting to hurt him like he’d done in the past but maybe he’d feel different in a week.

Paul watched with pride as the referee counted 1, 2, 3 when Joe pinned Bray. A huge smile spread across his face as the referee handed him the Universal Title. Joe was so overcome with emotion as he took hold of the belt. He had worked so hard for this and had just taken part in one of the hardest fought and best matches of his career. He felt banged up, still sore from the attack on Raw but he didn’t care.

His eyes met Paul’s first as he arrived backstage. Paul nodded at him with a smile just as he was bombarded by the other wrestlers congratulating him. Once he worked his way through the crowd, he got to Vince, who was almost on the verge of tears as he hugged him and finally Paul, who pulled him into a bear hug. “So proud of you.” Was all he said. Joe knew he was just keeping things low key as not to draw any attention. There would be plenty of time for talk later. All Joe wanted to do now was shower. He made his way, with his belt to the men’s locker room. A few of the guys were already in there, Colby, Tom, Matthew, Claudio, Kevin and Drew. Joe immediately went over to Drew and hugged him. “What a match!” Drew said with a smile, clearly glad that it was over. “You guys put on a hell of a show.” Claudio chimed in, putting his arms around both men. “We must celebrate!” He said throwing his arms up in the air. The others agreed, even Colby. Joe only had plans to go back to the Venetian with Paul. “Whaddya say Joe?” Drew asked. He couldn’t deny that smile. “Sounds a plan.” He said giving in. He barely ever went out for drinks with the guys and they were in Vegas. He grabbed his phone from his bag and quickly called Paul.

“What’s up?” Joe hated interrupting him while he was working. “Listen, some of the guys want to take me out for drinks. They kinda goaded me into it. Do you mind?” Paul was quiet for a moment. “No problem babe, I’ll be here another while anyway and you deserve it. Where are you guys going?”

“I’m not sure yet, somewhere on the Strip I’m sure. It’ll only be for two or three anyway.”

“OK cool, let me know where you end up.”

“Love you.” Joe told him to which Paul replied “Love you too.”

Everyone agreed go to the Dorsey at The Venetian since it was central Strip. They all freshened up and agreed to meet there around eleven. While Joe was changing into a his black suit and black shirt, he heard the door open. Paul was early. “Look at you.” He cooed seeing how good Joe looked. He rarely got to see him in a suit. “Makes me wanna keep you here.” He said pulling him in for a kiss. “I won’t be late. Just thought it’d be nice since we’re in Vegas. You wanna join us? We’re just actually going to the Dorsey downstairs.”

“Aww babe, I”d love to but its been a long day so I’ll just have a drink here.”

“You sure?” Joe checked. “Yeah, I’m good. Who’s out anyway?” He asked. “Kevin, Tom, Matthew, Claudio, Drew and Colby. Just a few of us.” Paul pulled away. Joe could see the look change on Paul’s face. He placed his hands on his hips. “I thought you and Colby were no longer on speaking terms?” Joe shifted. “Well, there’s just the odd hello here and there. It’s kinda unavoidable since we work together.” Joe tried to reason with him.

“Doesn’t sound like it.” Paul said. He looked annoyed. “Claudio just suggested drinks when we were all in the locker room. I could hardly say no?” Paul walked out of the bedroom into the living room area with Joe in pursuit “Look, I should’ve told you when I first mentioned drinks but I…” Paul stopped and turned to face him “You what?” Joe backed away a little “I was worried you might be annoyed.” The young man was frustrated. “You’re right. I am. I specifically asked you not to get involved with him-”

“We’re just going for drinks with friends. That’s all! Don’t you trust me?” Joe asked, searching his eyes. Paul’s eyebrow furrowed “Don’t you?” Joe asked again, his eyes starting to look a little glassy. Joe swallowed, backing away and going back into the bedroom. Paul’s look said it all. He could hear Joe starting to gather his things in the ensuite. “What are you doing?” Paul asked coming into the bedroom. “You clearly don’t trust me so I’m done.” Joe was visibly upset. “I’m sorry baby. Don’t go-” He said grabbing Joe arm. “No, not this time. I was so fucking stupid to think I could try this again.” He said zipping up his bag. He was angry now. Paul grabbed his arm again, this time not letting him go. “Look, look! I’m sorry I upset you. You know how I feel about Colby.”

“There’s nothing going on. I can’t believe you don’t trust me with him.” At that moment, Joe phone rang. He took it out of his pocket. It was Drew. Paul eyed the phone before Joe answered. “Hey, I’m just held up a little. I’ll be down soon.”

Paul took a few steps back. “Y’know what? You do what you want. See if I care.” Joe scowled at him before grabbing his bag and leaving the room. He was seething. He blinked his eyes hard as he walked towards the elevators, trying to ward off tears. Luckily, reception was quiet since it was Sunday night and he was able to get himself a room. He quickly dropped his bag off and went down to the bar. The guys were all sat around a table in the corner. “About time!” Tom announced as he approached the table. “Sorry guys!” Joe apologised forcing a smile. “Have some champagne! Time to celebrate!” Claudio said, already filling a glass for Joe. They all toasted to his win and a good night for them all in general.

“Where’s Paul?” Drew asked whilst the others were all chatting amongst themselves. “He’s upstairs.” Joe simply said, taking a swig of his beer. “Didn’t care to join us for a drink?”

“You know what he’s like. Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about him.” Joe called to the passing bartender “Can I get another round?” The bartender got to work immediately. Drew looked Joe over. Something seemed off, like he was hiding something.

An hour passed and everyone was moderately drunk. Joe was in mild conversation with Colby when his phone rang. Colby could see it was Paul, just before Joe put it away. “Aren’t you gonna get that?”

“No, It’s fine.” Joe shrugged. “Listen man, tell me if I’m out of line but…you seem different tonight. Are things OK with you and Paul?” He asked cautiously so the others wouldn’t hear. “No, they’re not.” He said before sighing. “Do you want to talk about it?” Joe looked him in the eyes “Actually, no. I just wanna have a good time with you guys and forget about it.” Colby backed up “It’s cool man, whatever you want.”

It was around 1am when the guys decided to call it a night and go to their respective hotels. “Hang on for a moment.” Joe told Colby as the others left.

“I didn’t want to come off as a dick earlier. You know that’s not me.” Joe started apologising as they stood in the lobby area. “Hey man it’s all good. Despite what’s happened between us over the past month or so, you know I’m always here for you.”

“Appreciate it man. Where are you staying?” Joe asked. “Here. I’ve never stayed here before, thought I’d treat myself.”

“Well It’s been a long day. I’m shattered.” Joe said as they walked towards the elevators. “At least were here tomorrow for Raw so can chill for a bit.”

“Well, this is me.” Joe said as they stopped at the 10th floor. “You gonna be OK? I don’t mind keeping you company…” Colby offered. Joe eyes trailed in his direction as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. He didn’t need to say anything. Colby stepped out into the hallway and walked to Joe’s room in silence. Nothing had been touched. It just looked like he’d left his suitcase in and came down to the bar which meant that he had probably been in Paul’s room beforehand.

Joe closed the room door behind them and set the key card aside. Colby walked into the living room area and looked out the window, taking in the night view. Joe followed, taking off his jacket and setting it on the back of the chair. Quietly he moved behind Colby and placed his hand on his right shoulder, urging him to turn around. Without a word, he kissed him gently on the lips. Colby reciprocated momentarily but moved away slowly. “What’s the matter?” Joe asked. “I don’t want to regret this.”

“You won’t.” He leaned in to kiss him again, more forceful this time. “Joe, please-”

“I thought you wanted this?” Joe searched his eyes. “I do but, you’re drunk…pissed off with Paul. I just…you’ve gotta understand where I’m coming from?” Colby was being reasonable. Joe moved away, lowering to the sofa. “I do. It’s not fair on you man.” Colby joined him on the sofa. “Do you mind me asking what happened?”

“Things got a little rocky a couple of weeks ago when I went to stay at his in Connecticut so I left earlier than I had planned. I thought that was it but last Friday, we talked and ended up spending the weekend together in Denver.”

“When I told him I was going for drinks tonight, he was fine at first but he got pissed off when he heard you would be there.” Colby rolled his eyes “It’s just drinks with friends. What does he think is gonna happen between us?” Colby shook his head in amusement. “He doesn’t trust me when it comes to you and I can’t live like that. I had to make a choice.”

“So that’s why you walked out tonight?” Colby pursed his lips. “Yeah. I had enough.” Joe let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m just tired man.” Joe leaned forward and lowered his head into his hands. Colby could see that he was starting to cry. He moved closer and put his arms around Joe “Aww man, don’t cry.” Joe buried his head into his friends shoulder and sobbed quietly. “I hate to see you like this.” He stroked the back of his neck, gently rocking him. Joe moved away, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just feel like a mess.” Colby took hold of his shoulders. “Listen to me. I don’t want to see you upset. You’re not a mess. You’re a brilliant man and my best friend. You deserve the best.” Joe blinked and nodded. He felt ashamed. He didn’t want Colby to see him like this. “Just get some sleep man.” Joe nodded standing up. He stood up and got undressed down to his boxers while Colby pulled back the covers on the bed and moved the cushions aside. Joe brushed his teeth and came back into the bedroom. Colby forced a smile. “Will you stay a while. Just until I fall asleep? I don’t wanna be alone.” Joe as asked timidly.

“Of course.” He nodded. Joe got into the bed and watched as he undressed, neatly setting his shirt and trousers aside before turning off the lights. The room was now bathed on a red glow, coming from the nearby Hi-Roller outside. Colby climbed in next to Joe, who was lying on his back, eyes lowered to his chest. Colby moved closer, allowing Joe to lean his head into his chest for comfort. He placed his hand on Joe abdomen. There was something so soothing lying with Colby, hearing his light breaths and feeling his heartbeat that it didn’t take Joe long to nod off.

Joe awoke around nine the following morning. The room was bright since the curtains hadn’t been drawn. He had been lying in the same position as he had fallen asleep in. Colby started to stir, moving his head. He groaned, opening his eyes slowly.

“What time is it?” He asked groggily. Joe grabbed his phone from the night stand. “It’s just gone nine. Thanks for staying.“ Joe turned in to face him. “No worries. You feeling a bit better?” Colby asked, stroking his cheek. “Rested. So glad we don’t have to travel today.”

“I know. What are you gonna do?” Colby asked, stroking Joe forearm. “I don’t know. I never made plans. I normally just chill with Paul.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere for a big breakfast. There’s a place I’ve been to before called the Peppermill. Wanna go there?”

“A big breakfast sounds perfect about now.” His stomach rumbled at the thought. Colby laughed upon hearing it. His hand trailed down to Joe stomach where he tickled him. Joe laughed aloud, squirming, trying to fight him off as Colby climbed on top of him, continuing to tickle him. He grabbed Joe by the wrists and pinned him to the mattress. Joe could feel his cock getting very hard as Colby did this.

“What are you gonna do now?” he teased, lowering his head closer to Joe. Their eyes met. Without hesitation, Joe lifted his head off the pillow and kissed Colby. Within seconds, they were entangled in a passionate kiss, hands roaming each others bodies, scrambling to take their boxers off. Joe rolled over onto his stomach, arching himself up on his knees. Colby climbed behind him and prized his ass cheeks apart, leaned forward and started to tease his opening with his tongue. Joe moaned at the warm wet feeling. “So good…” He looked behind and all he could see was Colby’s head buried in his ass. He dripped his saliva around the opening and lined the head of his cock up with the opening of Joe’s hole. He eased his way in as Joe lowered his head, breathing deeply. In no time their bodies were rocking the bed, slowly at first, then becoming more steady as Colby picked up the pace. “Aaaah fuck. Jesus!” Joe let out, trying to maintain his balance. All Joe could hear was the slamming of Colby”s balls every time he thrust into him along with his grunts. He sure had stamina when it came to fucking. Colby gripped his pelvis tightly, steadying him as he came hard in his ass. Joe buried his head into the pillows below as Colby shuddered behind him breathlessly. He eventually released Joe, rolling back onto his heels. He watched as Joe rolled over onto his back, strands of hair strewn across his damp forehead. He smiled lazily at Colby, watching as he leaned down to kiss him.

“I don’t know about you but I need food.” Colby said getting off the bed. “I’m gonna go freshen up in my room and I’ll meet you at like 10:30 in the Lobby?”

“Sounds perfect.” Joe said getting off the bed. He followed Colby to the door. “Hey.” Colby turned around. “Thanks man.” Joe kissed him again before letting him leave. Joe smiled to himself as he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He went to the bedside to plug in his phone. He pursed his lips upon seeing a couple of unread WhatsApp messages from Paul. A horrible feeling invaded the pit of his stomach as he opened them.

11:30pm - I’m sorry about tonight. I do trust you. I don’t want to lose you again.

8:45am – Hope you’re OK? I want to make things better. Can we talk?

Joe exhaled setting the phone down and went to take his shower. All he could think of was that it was too late for Paul to say he trusted him. Why didn’t he say it to his face last night? Again, Paul had him wrecking his brain. He didn”t know how things might pan out with Colby since he was known to sleep around. He probably wouldn’t want anything serious. It was too soon anyway. He decided he was gonna just play it cool in the meantime and see how things pan out.

When he came back into the bedroom, his phone had just stopped ringing. It was Paul. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

One thing that was certain, Paul wasn’t the type to give up on something so easily. He would probably see him this evening for Raw and part of him wanted to get this over with.

“I was wondering if I’d hear from you at all.” Paul started. “I’m not long up.” Joe said walking over to the window. “Good night?” Joe hated this small talk. “Yeah, was a nice change.” There was a moment of silence. “Are you at the Venetian still?” Paul asked.

“Yeah.” Joe started pacing around the room.

“Can I see you?” Paul eventually asked. “I have to head out soon.”

“When you’re free?” Paul pushed. “OK. I should be around one.” Joe told him. He was already dreading this conversation. “OK come up to my room.” Paul said before ending the call.

[fromthewifecage]

Never Trust  A Cowboy With A Computer (AKA: Erron Black/Female reader smut)

I’ve had a lot of issues with this, I’ve had to edit the hell out of it, changing a bunch in the 1st chapter, so please reread Chapter 1 before jumping into the smut that is Chapter 2. It’s over 5k words, and it’ll be posted over on my AO3  https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeltAutomaton in a bit if you want to be extra kind and go give me kudos there :D Thank you again to @tomoka0013 @gojihime99 and @malicedragoness for your encouragement and all your help *blows kisses* Hope you like :D NSFW!

CHAPTER 1:

For once, the absolutely only time in recent history, your hair is behaving, thank the Gods! Actually, is there a God of Hair? Hmmm, maybe Kano would know? His stories of meeting Gods are always fascinating, even though he always exaggerates his role and prowess in encounters with said Gods. There is simply no way on Earthrealm that Kano could have stolen the Thunder God’s hat without being zapped into the Netherrealm. Plus, Kano has never produced this hat, so whenever he has one too many beers and starts on another night of tall tales, you nod along and feign complete belief in his words.

Maybe one day you’ll get to meet a God? Not likely whilst you’re stuck behind a computer for hours and hours every single day. Especially working alongside Erron-sodding-Black. He’s gone through at least 5 computers this year, 2 in the past three weeks! You swear he was doing it on purpose. In your steamiest daydreams he’s deliberately breaking his computers so you’ll have to travel to the ‘Black Dragon Boyz office’ (and yes, they spell it with a ‘z’) to spend precious time un-fucking his computer. Every time it happens, you swear you’re just going to tell him to go bother someone else, or get his arse down to PC World and find some spotty 17 year old work experience boy to bother rather than yourself. After all, you’re doing just as an important job for the Black Dragon as he is, well, almost. He might be a super amazing dead-shot sniper capable of assassinating even the most heavily guarded target, but you aren’t just IT support, you are a Black Dragon member too.

******** More after the cut! ***********

You spend much of your time hacking into Special Forces super secret files, reading General Sonya Blade’s horribly dry mission reports, or transferring money from one Swiss bank account to another before you could be traced. Well, that was why Kano had hired you. Yet these past few months you’ve been dragged to broken computer after broken computer by the obscenely handsome aforementioned Erron Black at least once a week. You hadn’t minded the first few times, after all, any time spent in Erron’s company makes you all giddy and wibbly-wobbly inside your knickers. His voice honestly does things to you, actually makes parts that shouldn't tingle at work, tingle. He has warm eyes that seem to sparkle whenever he speaks to you, or catch you staring at him, not that you stare at him. Much. OK, maybe a little. He has a smile that is likely illegal in half the known world. Long, strong fingers that you so often think about, especially when you watch him dance a coin across his knuckles when he’s thinking, his trick to keep his fingers supple. No, no no. No thinking about him. He obviously isn't interested in you. He’s a simple man when it comes to that. You’ve seen him make moves on people who catch his eye; he’ll watch them for a while, then walk up to them, give them a smile, tell them plainly what he wanted. Then you’ll watch them walk off together whilst your heart dissolves into self pity. A few months ago, you made a real effort to try to stop flirting with him. No more lingering looks while spending more time than needed helping him with his computer. The man was multi-talented with most things, just not computers. It probably didn't help that he didn’t grow up around modern technology. You gently tease him about being old and doddery around computers and he takes the jokes well, and really, you miss joking around with him, but it was for the best. Kabal jostles with you for mirror space, smoothing down his hair and giving the mirror a big grin. Why is it so easy for men like him? He probably rolls out of bed after 2 hours sleep with his face in a half-eaten curry and he’ll still wake up ridiculously handsome (the git). Whereas it takes a lot of fussing to even get your hair to behave, let alone look nice and shiny like Kabal’s does. Maybe you could make a small shrine in the corner of your bedroom to the Hair God? You nod to yourself, thinking Kabal must have done that. “Come on, you look beautiful. Now get your coat and scarf, and we’re outta here. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss it!” Kabal fusses with his coat buttons. Always unable to keep still, the man practically radiates excess energy. “I WILL BE SAD IF WE MISS THE FILM.” Tremor stands up from his own desk, the building shaking ever so slightly with the enormous man’s movements. “Not as sad as Kabal. He’ll start bawlin’ if he misses his boyfriend’s new film.” Erron spins round in his brand new swivel chair, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Johnny Cage is NOT my boyfriend and I don’t even care about missing the film.” Kabal bristles with indignation. He did care about missing it. He cares a lot. “I don’t even like his films, or him. I’m just watching it ironically.” Erron laughs. You feel that laughter, deep inside and it demands attention. Bastard. “Suuuure. Enjoy your boyfriend.” “He is NOT my boyfriend!” This was going to end up in another fight. Last week Kabal had called Erron ‘Old Man Withers’. Erron had retaliated by drawing on Kabal’s Johnny Cage calendar. (The moustache and glasses actually suited the ridiculously handsome movie star.) So Kabal put a mouse in Erron’s desk drawer and recorded Erron’s screams, playing them every so often whilst laughing. The feud had gone on until Kano forced them to apologise to one another, in front of everyone. This sort of idiocy happened probably twice a month. It had escalated to where people now made bets on how long each feud will last. The longest feud had lasted 23 long days before Kano had flipped. “I DO NOT WANT TO BE LATE.” Tremor tugs open the office door and the handle will need replacing. Again. You follow after the huge man, Kabal behind you is muttering about revenge. “Hey, Sweetheart, you goin’ too?” It takes a second before you realise that sultry Texan drawl is aimed at you. “Oh, yes. There was a spare ticket since Kira’s still stuck on a job.” Oh shit, you should have offered it to Erron instead. You’d been so excited to be included in the cinema plans that you’d been selfish and not asked if Erron had wanted to go. “But……” Erron’s face scrunches a little and he turns to his computer and hits a few keys in quick succession. “It ain’t workin’ again. Sorry, darlin’.” He gestures helplessly to his computer. “But… I only fixed it this morning! What have you done this time?!” You drop your bag to the floor, and peel off your coat with a frustrated groan. You are going to get fired, there was no way Kano would believe this. You are completely and utterly incompetent. No other reason. Your fault. “It’s those darn computer gremlins again.” He gives you an apologetic smile and shrugs with frustration at the computer gremlins. You sigh and wave goodbye to Kabal and Tremor, both eager to watch Ninja Mime’s latest adventure. This one was in SPACE and it was going to be amazing, and you were going to miss it. Nooooooo! You stomp over to Erron’s computer, your mouth twists into a grumpy pout. “That is it. No more computers for you! you want to do some work; then you can bloody well do it on a typewriter.” Erron replies with a “Heyyyyyyy” and a laugh. The throb between your legs from the laugh can just sod off. No more. Not when you were going to be unemployed and unemployable after this. Who was going to hire you? What could you put on your CV? ‘Failed IT support worker’? ‘Only capable of turning a computer on and even then it’ll probably turn itself off again when you’re not looking?’ ‘Can steal FBI or Special Forces secrets but can’t keep an old man’s computer running for more than 3 minutes before it’s broken again’? ‘Want to play Solitaire? Well don’t ask me, best try the sudoku in the newspaper instead’. You’re so engrossed in sulking you don’t notice Erron get up from his comfy chair to stand behind you as you perch on the crappy stool with no back (it had no back because Tremor had tried to sit on it). It was only when strong hands find your hunched shoulders and begin kneading at the tightly knotted and sore muscles, that you look away from the ‘blue screen of death’. “I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you, Sweetheart.” By the Gods his fingers are truly magic. His thumbs are rubbing magic circles into your shoulders and it feels soooo good. “Mmmhhhhh?” Maybe he is a God, the God of massage.? You close your eyes, your head rolls back and you enjoy the moment. Heat radiates from where his fingers touch you, heat that only gets stronger when it reaches your face and between your legs. He finds one particularly knotted muscle and you can’t help but groan your pleasure as his thumb circles the spot. His chuckled reply tugs you back to your senses and you quickly shrug his hands off you. Thank the Gods you have your back to him so he can’t see your positively flushed face. You quickly get back to tapping away at the keyboard, but your hands are shaking so badly from the intimacy, you struggle to hit the correct keys. “You sure you got that, Sweetheart?” The computer indignantly beeps at your clumsy fingers. “Says the man who has trashed enough computers to practically bankrupt Kano.” Your hands continue to shake and your thwarted desire swerves into anger. “I’ve made you mad.” “I haven’t been out in FOREVER, and just as I’m about to go out, YOU go break your computer. AGAIN!” “Ain’t my fault your boyfriend doesn’t take you out.” Why did he sound almost happy about that? Hang on… You spin around to face him. “What boyfriend?” “You know, the dwarf.” “The.. what?” “Your boyfriend, the hairy dwarf.” He folds his arms, and shifts his weight to one hip. He doesn’t seem too happy talking about this mystery boyfriend, whoever they are. “Is this some sort of joke?” You honestly have no idea what he means. Maybe he’s drunk or Kabal has told him this for a laugh? “I don’t think so?” One of his eyebrows rises in puzzlement. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t have a hairy dwarf boyf.. why do you think I have a hairy dwarf boyfriend?” Maybe you have a secret boyfriend so secret you don’t actually know you are in fact dating him? Piotr, who runs a very seedy strip club in the seedier part of the city, is a dwarf, (and you only know him because Kano is friendly with him, he’s a bit scary), but he’s balding. Who does Erron think you are dating? “You said you did. You know, you were talking about him being all small and his hair got everyw…. He’s a cat ain’t he.” Erron has the good grace to look embarrassed at his idiocy. “Obviously.” Is Kabal recording this? This is ridiculous. “Shit.” “Yup.” “Then.. uh.. you should go catch up with Kabal and Tremor.” “I still have your computer to fix.” This was going to be such an awkward few hours. Sitting in the office in silence because the pair of you are idiots. “I can do that.” He throws out a warm smile. “Really. The man who can’t even use a mouse without breaking it, can fix this mess?” You can’t help but roll your eyes. If he even so much as looks at the computer it will probably catch fire. “I maybe exaggerated my lack of skills.” His smile wavers, and slides from warm to worried. You are going to kill him if this was going where you suspect it is going. “I maybe might’ve deliberately caused the error.” He holds up his hands in surrender. Yup, you’re definitely going to have to kill him. “I maybe did some classes a few years back when I was at a loose end.” “…… I’m going to kill you!” “How ‘bout I make it up to you? I take you out for dinner, there’s this patisserie we can go afterwards for the best pastries in Moscow. Hell, you wanna watch that film, let’s go.” His eyes plead with you not to hate him, but right now, you really do. “I have a hairy dwarf who’ll be better company, thank you.” That he was possibly asking you out and that he wanted to actually go out on a date wasn’t registering. All you can think of is the waste of time and how humiliated you feel. Everyone probably knows and has laughed at how utterly clueless you are. Kano is going to fire you for being shit at your job - after he finishes laughing. “Heyyy, Sweetheart. I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend time with you.” He really does sound sorry. His eyes go all soft and warm and apologetic and Gods, he is beautiful and you really do want to believe him. “You really thought it was accidental?” He tries to hide a smile and can’t stop one eyebrow from raising quizzically at the thought that you’ve been so utterly clueless. “Well… you’re… there weren’t computers around when you were young…younger, I’m just an idiot aren’t I?” The-all-too brief warmth and fuzziness from thinking maybe there might actually be something there between you dissolves back into embarrassment from being tricked so easily. You grab your coat and bag and leave the office whilst Erron stares after you.

Chapter 2

The flat is dark and cold when you finally get home. The bus had been late, and Russia in autumn is hardly the most fun time of year to be kept waiting at a bus stop. Fur-lined boots and a thick fuzzy coat are nice enough, but do little to keep your body from freezing outside in the colder months. Still, the flat has semi-decent heating, and a thick blanket and a fuzzy cat happily purring on your knee whilst you drink coffee soon has you feeling a bit warmer.

Thinking back to earlier you have to admit you’d have liked a boyfriend, and no matter how humiliating what had happened earlier was, you still wish that this boyfriend was Erron. Your cat, Bob, was great company, and he would never play mean tricks on you, but great company as Bob was, he didn’t keep you quite as warm and quite as tingly as Erron possibly could. Sensing your traitorous thoughts, Bob nudges at your hand with his fluffy head to demand attention, purring happily when you indulge him and tickle under his chin. You give him a kiss on his fuzzy little head as way of an apology for being so utterly traitorous. Soon your thoughts switch to worries that you’ll be fired once Kano finds out about Erron’s trickery. Actually, Kano doesn’t fire people; he has them eaten by pigs or whatever it is that scary gangster criminal people do. Who will look after Bob? Your bottom lip quivers as you think about Bob, all alone in the dark, unable to open his tins of cat food without opposable thumbs, meowing sadly for someone to change his kitty litter. A moment later you force a smile. No more feeling sorry for yourself! You aren’t some pathetic pushover, this means war! You won’t just put a mouse in Erron’s drawer, you’ll put three rats in there and upload his screams to Youtube. He’ll find 30 chickens in his flat and you’ll steal his lunch every single day. You’ll swap all of his guns for water pistols and laugh when he cries about it. A loud buzzing from the doorbell pulls you from your thoughts of revenge. It’s probably Kano and some hungry pigs, so you take three deep breaths to prepare yourself. Scooping up Bob and tiptoeing to the door, you peep through the spyhole to instead see Erron waving at the spyhole. Muttering various threats, you open the door and give him your best pout. “Cute kitty.” He holds out a pink box with gold cyrillic lettering across the top. “I’ve come to apologise.” You keep up your pout and take the box with your free hand, then try to nudge the door closed with your hip. Erron laughs and strides into the flat, giving Bob a quick tickle on the head. 3 minutes later and Erron has taken over the kitchen. He has his own coffee, has eaten two of the amazing pastries he’d brought and Bob is his new best friend. The cat winds around Erron’s feet, meowing for attention, steadfastly refusing to stop even when you refill his food bowl. Traitorous beast! This must be payback for earlier. “You don’t like pastries, Sweetheart? I can go get somethin’ different?” The bastard throws you a smile that would normally have your knickers falling down, but you’re still feeling sorry for yourself, and Erron-Bloody-Black is not going to get off this easily. You have to keep up the pout so he won’t suspect your revenge plans. You shake your head and turn to tidy the counter-top behind you, thinking hard about a plan of attack. How about stealing his hats and replacing them with hats identical in every way except the hats were all just slightly too big? Your plan of attack is quickly ruined when strong hands find your hips and give them a gentle squeeze. Your spine tightens, and you hope your gasp of pleasure wasn’t audible. Lips brush your ear, and when he speaks, his warm breath sends a huge shiver right through you. “Please, Sweetheart, I’m sorry, don’t hate me. I promise, I’ll make it up to you. You want me on mah knees?” The thought of Erron on his knees is enough to make you shiver again. A hard pulse hits you right between the legs. Oh fuck, that was unfair. “It’ll take more than that.” “More cake?” He presses a very soft kiss just below your ear. Another pulse hits. Your legs quiver but you just about manage to keep yourself upright. Your knickers are going to evaporate. “You didn’t give me a chance to eat them.” Your voice is surprisingly steady but you chew on your lip to stop any pathetic noises escaping, just in case. “Dinner, every night for a week. We’ll get dressed up all fancy and go to the ballet, then spend the weekend in bed.” His voice is lower now, rougher. Another kiss sends more shivers through you, nerve endings sparking. Your fingers grab onto the countertop to stop you slithering to the floor. “That’s pretty presumptuous of you.” “You don’t wanna spend the weekend in bed with me?” Your stunned silence is answered by low laughter and him pressing a kiss to your neck. The tip of his tongue teases your tingling skin, and this time you can’t stifle your reaction. Erron takes your whimper as an invitation to slide his hands to your thighs and tug up your dress so his fingers can find bare skin. You lean back against him, his warmth quickly bleeding into you. More prickles of heat fizz through your nerves and aim straight for your core. Strong fingers dig into your thighs as he tugs your dress higher, inch by inch. Warm lips pepper kisses down your neck to your shoulders, lightly dancing his tongue over your increasingly sensitive skin, chuckling to himself with your every moan and whimper. You grip the edge of the counter harder and let your head roll to the side to give him more of you. Each touch from his mouth sends sparks down your spine and you can feel a slickness between your legs. Oh fuck... “This ok, Sweetheart?” Your reply is a mere mumble but he still gives you a moment to decline his touches, his mouth and fingers still upon you. You quickly force a “Yes, please”, and are rewarded by fingers sliding to your underwear, skimming so gently over the silken fabric to tease you. You whine at being denied his fingers and receive a gentle bite to your shoulder in reply. Then he’s gone. Your dress slithers back down to cover your thighs with you almost doing the same and slithering to the floor. You turn and watch him stride through the open door into your bedroom. Luckily he can’t see how your face scrunches into a desperate pout from being denied. “You comin’, Darlin’?” Your reply of “Well I would have been” is mumbled through gritted teeth as you trot after him, wishing you have even an ounce of self-control. He sits himself on the edge of your bed, reaching out to a hand, tugging you to sit on his lap, your legs straddling his as you face him. His large strong hands cup your face, and with a smile he presses the softest of kisses to your mouth. He waits for you to respond, then kisses you again once you kiss him back, a little harder and a little longer this time. His thumbs brush your face, then his hands are holding you close to him, close enough to feel both his warmth and his heart pounding as hard as your own. He is intoxicating, his heat, his mouth, his hands, and you want him more than anything. Your fingers find his face, stroking over his stubble prickled cheeks to learn how he feels, your touch light, nervous at finally being able to indulge yourself. He smiles at your touches and pulls you harder against him so you can feel his burgeoning hardness through his jeans, his smile widening when you wriggle to feel him, delighting in feeling his arousal because of you and enjoying your own arousal demanding attention. Your skin prickles with building desire and impulsively your hands leave his face to tug your dress up and off. He kisses you again, unbuttoning his shirt between every press of his lips to yours. His hands are then all over you, your back, your ass, stroking your skin, teasing you with the gentlest of touches then squeezing you hard enough to make you gasp between your contented sighs. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his teeth and tongue teasing louder gasps of delight from your kiss reddened lips. Your fingers stroke through his hair then roam over his chest and back, then moving over his thickly muscled arms, learning just how he feels. Erron murmurs happily into your ear and against your neck, and his fingers dig tighter into your ass, moving you against his groin, becoming more and more desperate to feel you. He tugs at your bra and when no objection is made, it joins the pile of clothing on the floor. He growls into your neck in approval at your breasts being free, and using the lightest of touches, traces the back of his fingers around the swell of your breasts and over your hard, sensitive nipples. Erron chuckles breathily at your whimpers and how you shiver from his touches, your need building as you grind down against his hardening dick encased in his jeans. Every touch of his mouth and fingers goes straight to your cunt and fuck, if he doesn’t fuck you soon, you’ll explode from the building pressure. Your fingers go for his waistband and fumble at the buttons with sweaty and shaking fingers. Erron drags his attention from your chest to watch you struggle with the stubborn fastenings. “You’re an eager one, Sweetheart.” “It’s your fault.” “Yeah, I guess it is.” He cocks an eyebrow, lifts you off his lap and lays you on the bed. Said eyebrow raises even higher when you wriggle out of your knickers and toss them aside, but it’s in jest, and he takes a long moment to gaze appreciatively at you, his smile genuine, warm and tinged deeply with desire. He tugs off his jeans and underwear with ease and tosses them to join the clothes pile, and then he’s on you. His tongue and lips find your breasts, his teasing your nipples harder ever so gently with his teeth has you tugging at his hair. You feel the graze of fingers trail down your body to your thighs that then grip you tightly enough to leave marks you’ll feel for the next few days. His long, strong fingers slide between your legs, moving them apart to finally reach your cunt. Again his touch is so light and gentle, a finger brushes over your folds before dipping between them. His thumb searches for your clit, circling around the sensitive bud as his fingers find your opening. He kisses you again, murmuring between the kisses, he whispers how beautiful you are to him, how he’s wanted you for all this time, how you feel, how hard you’ve made him and when he increases the pressure he pulls back to watch your eyes flutter closed and your teeth sink into your lower lip to stifle your pleasure. He continues to tease your clit, using your slickness to keep his touch feather light. He watches you writhe beneath him with tightly closed eyes, your back arching and one hand tangling in your own hair as he changes the pressure of his thumb on your clit, sometimes soft, sometimes rough, sometimes so feather light you beg for him to be rougher. Your feet kick against the bedclothes, rucking them up around you both as Erron pulls more and more pleasure from you. His thumb leaves your clit and he laughs at your indigent whines, instead he slides a long finger inside you. You’re so wet and needy that your cunt accepts him easily, and you soon beg for more. With a smile he adds another finger inside you, then a third, scissoring you wider, his fingers moving easily with your arousal. You whimper up at him, voicing just how good he’s making you feel, and how you want to touch him. He kisses you when you reach out to grasp his long, thick cock, stroking him harder, feeling the velvet softness of the skin over iron hardness. Your kisses quicken and deepen, tongues entwining, teeth biting at the others lips, desire building so quickly that every touch is almost desperate. When you whisper how you want him inside you he eagerly slides his fingers from you, pushing your thighs wider apart, staring into your eyes as he first strokes his cock harder, your arousal on his fingers coating his length along with the pearls of precum that weep from the crown, then rubs himself against your folds. He pauses, taking the moment to breathe, then tormentingly slowly, he pushes himself inside your hot, wet heat. His thickness feels so good, stretching you so wide you can’t help but voice your pleasure. He groans a reply and almost tauntingly slowly, he pushes deeper, his thick cock stretching you more than his fingers could. He pauses, allowing you both to catch your breath and adjust to just how perfect the other feels. He gazes down at you with heavy-lidded eyes that shine with more than just desire, his damp hair messy, strands sticking to his forehead. Agonizingly slowly, he pushes forward, his cock stretching your cunt wider and wider as you cling to him, until he’s filled you completely. Again you kick at the bed, the sensations overwhelming you, your head light and fuzzy, your skin buzzing as sweat beads along your scalp and chest, dampening the backs of your limbs, and between where you and Erron lie against one another. Erron groans with pleasure and kisses you open mouthed, eager and lust-filled, just so happy to be with you. He tears his kiss-swollen lips from yours to take deep breaths and you stare up at him, every nerve tingles with sensation, your cunt so tight around his cock. You stroke a hand through his damp hair and whimper uncontrollably as he snaps his hips first backwards, then forwards. You nerves delight in the friction and beg for more and you’re unable to stop from begging him to fuck you, fuck you hard and fast and to fuck you now! The pace starts out so slow, his fingers digging into your hips, his mouth on yours then moving to your neck, hot breath on sweat slicked skin. Your legs wrap around him, pulling your hips upwards, angling you so he’s even deeper with each thrust, his cock making your nerves sing from the friction and the need for more. Your fingers are in his hair, tugging and stroking and you whisper and moan your delight at feeling him inside you. When neither of you can take it anymore he speeds up his thrusts, still achingly deep, are brusingly hard, your cunt so tight around him that the sensation is almost too much. Sweat rolls down the back of your legs, prickles in your hairline and down spine. Your hands are everywhere, gripping at him, holding your writhing bodies together, and slipping on his hot wet skin. The tightness in your cunt starts to radiate to your thighs and spine. Your thighs grip him tighter and you whimper your pleasure and beg for more, desperate for a release. His replies are muffled, his mouth is in the crook of your neck and when his thrusts start to quicken yet further he lifts his head to gaze down in your eyes, watching as you come undone beneath him. He whispers encouragement, delighting as your pleasure builds into a fire that overwhelms and burns, every nerve aflame and so bright. You cry out and let everything wash over you, your body writhing as Erron keeps moving inside you to prolong the feeling and let you ride out your bliss. His hands paw at your hips as he comes mere moments after you, hips thrusts jerking and stuttering, spilling deep inside you, grunting loudly with his own overwhelming pleasure. He’s heavy as he lies panting on top of you, the pair of you struggling to breath again and calm your pounding hearts. Erron chuckles breathlessly, kisses you between deep breaths, rolls first onto his back, then onto his side to face you and props himself up on one elbow. “Think I’m broken.” You snuggle up against him, reveling in the afterglow, in how your hot sweat slicked skin feels in the cool air of your apartment. “Guess I have a talent for breaking things.” He smiles. He can’t keep his eyes off you. “I hate you.” “I know.”

[theuntamednarrator]

Shenanigans on the High Seas

from @trensu​, the blog that brought you WangXiantics, and from that other blog that just, like, screams a lot in the tags, comes the AU that we all desperately need because, frankly, we’re a little dehydrated from crying over the Nie Bros (drumroll please)

PIRATE AU!!!

You know you want it

the Zidian is Jiang Cheng’s ship. he inherited it from his mother, who was known as the Violet Spider, Scourge of the Seven Seas

before she retired, Captain Yu had two first mates she’d trained since childhood, Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang

after Captain Yu retired they got married and are now Pirate Wives with an-all female crew aboard the Yiling Matriarch

her bright red sails are just as feared as the purple sails of Zidian or the sable sails of Ghost General

any man who sets foot on the Matriarch best be prepared to lose it, and the leg it’s attached to

rumour has it that every carpenter from beijing to budapest pays the Matriarch a commission, for keeping them in work making peg legs, but that’s just a rumour

JC captains the Zidian alongside his first mate Jiang Yanli

the rumours about her say that she’s the reason there’s so little murdering done by those aboard the Zidian

but the crew know she once ordered a captive tied to a chunk of bait and thrown overboard near Shark Reef Bay

granted, she let the crew fish him back out after the first bite, and Jin Zixun never said another word about Captain Wei Wuxian until he was ransomed

but still

speaking of WWX, he captains the Ghost General, though far from doing any actual captaining he’s usually to be found up in the crow’s nest with a bottle of rum and his flute

luckily, his trusted first mate Wen Ning is more than capable of handling the General

his very favourite targets are the Jin Company’s slave traders, and most of his crew are former captives who chose to stay with him after their rescue

regardless of how drunk he might be, no one can fight like Captain WWX, except perhaps JC and JYL, they did grow up together after all!

because WWX was a foundling fished from the wreckage of a vanquished merchant ship by the Violet Spider at age 6 and taken to the island hideaway where her lover, former merchant sailor turned stay-at-home-dad Jiang Fengmian, is raising their two children

because this is a HAPPY AU DANGIT, and we deserve ONE AU where these two don’t traumatise their children

Captain Yu and JFM are in fact very, very happy together and raise little WWX together alongside JYL and JC

Captain Yu and JFM met when she raided his ship

he offered himself and all the gold aboard in return for his crew’s lives

she thought him rather striking and went about setting him up on a little island she knew, very out of the way, where she can visit as often as she likes

JFM is DELIGHTED by this turn of events, which he loudly denies has anything to do with Captain Yu’s famed skill with a whip

while JFM was settling into his sugar baby life, his crew were returning back to their home port to report to JFM’s business partner, Lan Qiren, that the Violet Spider had killed JFM and taken all their gold

LQR, who had secretly been in love with his best friend and business partner for years, declares the Violet Spider his ARCH NEMESIS and sets about trying to destroy her

when his brother and sister-in-law die and leave his two nephews in his care he ropes them into the feud

the Lan Brothers both join the merchant navy and are the very most eligible bachelors polite society has to offer

they hate all pirates of course but especially the unholy trio of Zidian, Ghost General, and the Yiling Matriarch

this makes it VERY awkward when Lan Wangji finds himself THROWN OVERBOARD during a terrible storm, rescued by WWX, and dragged aboard the General

at first, recognising the uniform, WWX keeps LWJ under his eye by tying their wrists together with a length of rope for absolutely no other reason definitely not cause he’s cute, nope, no sir

later, LWJ manages to snatch a sword and an EPIC DUEL ENSUES *cue he’s a pirate (main theme) from PotC here*

they’re in the rigging, they're sliding down the sails, they’re fighting up and down the deck

LWJ is HORRIFIED to realise at one point that WWX is laughing

even worse, he, LWJ, is having fun??? wtf he’s never had fun in his life how dare

after the fight ends in a draw LWJ and WWX come to an Understanding and have many deep and meaningful conversations as they sail back towards port

both of them fall madly in love of course, but Pirate!WWX and Midshipman!LWJ are just as emotionally dense as the OG varieties so there’s A LOT of pining

Seriously- so. much. pining

they probably battle a sea monster at some point because that’d be sick

finally, they arrive back at the port and WWX asks (sadly, because pining) where he should leave him and LWJ says (sadly, because pining) that any of the Gusu Cloud piers is fine

and WWX laughs because how funny! my dad used to be a merchant sailor for the Gusu Cloud Company

which is how LWJ discovers that the ‘dad’ WWX has been telling stories about for literal WEEKS is actually his uncle's now not-so-long-lost-love!because they are both Disaster Drama Gays™ they decide they simply MUST do this Right. After all, it’s an Epic Reunion™!!!

LWJ convinces his uncle to come out sailing with him (even though LQR has not boarded a ship since JFM was lost, cue sweeping nostalgic music and distant stare into montage of the two of them in their Youth)

they row him blindfolded out to the island where JFM and Captain Yu live and the moment LQR sees JFM it’s jaws to the floor.

there are tears

JFM puts his hands on LQR’s shoulders and says ‘my old friend. you never said’

they hug

it’s adorable

don’t roll your eyes it’s adorable and you know it

Captain Yu and LQR still Do Not Get Along

their Epic Rivalry™ continues but now it’s just morphed into them trying to outdo each other in displays of affection

JFM’s little island house soon holds more jewels, gold, fine silk, and artwork than half the royal coffers of europe

family dinners are a DELIGHT

JC freaking runs whenever his father hosts Captain Yu and LQR for dinner

because 1) god dad, you're so embarrassing, and 2) HE DOES NOT WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING THEY GET UP TO BEHIND CLOSED DOORS THANKS

JYL thinks it's sweet and loves seeing her dad so happy

WWX does the pirate-time equivalent of a bro fistbump with JFM, like, NICE.

LWJ is very quiet but secretly loves it because he, as we all know, is That Bitch

‘A wedding! I love it! drinks all round!’ – WWX, probably, when the three finally announce they’re getting married

the wedding is WILD

there’s a whole lot of dancing, WWX is in the thick of it of course

LWJ wants so badly to ask him to dance but he still hasn’t told him how he feels (because emotionally dense disaster gays, remember?)

he finally has to go outside after WWX somehow convinces LQR to dance a jig with him which means WWX has officially asked everyone to dance except him

he goes and sits in the tidal rockpool, and his billowy white shirt is all wet and see through when WWX comes stumbling out of the party calling for him

WWX sees LWJ silhouetted by an endless horizon of ocean and stars and dies. he's quiet for the first time in his whole life

then LWJ turns and sees him so of course WWX has to go down and talk to him. he may be a pirate but he’s not a barbarian (unlike some certain nies we could name but won’t he’s definitely not still salty about the arm wrestle incident with Captain Nie’s ‘little brother’ eh he’s not much of a fighter but he’s great with languages yeah right his wrist still hurts sometimes bloody barbarians)

‘ah lan zhan lan zhan! you aren’t allowed to run away; we haven’t had a dance yet. even your uncle danced with me surely you can’t say no!’ *pouts*

lwj.exe has stopped working

but of course he can’t deny WWX anything so he makes to head back inside

now wwx.exe has stopped working

because to HELL if he’s sharing wet LWJ in a see though white shirt with the rest of those imbeciles

‘ah, um lan zhan lan zhan we can hear the music from here just fine can’t we? let’s just dance right here?’

and of course LWJ says yes

so the two of them just dance together on the edge of the ocean, waves lapping over their bare feet

until a particularly big one knocks them flat (listen, it’s a trope for a REASON dagnabbit)

WWX ends up sprawled over LWJ’s chest and he’s laughing and apologizing

but LWJ is just looking at him, wreathed in stars, eyelashes so wet and glittering, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen

WWX notices how still he is and they just pause for a moment and stare at each other

doesn’t really matter who kisses who but they are kissing and it’s wet and salty, there is sand in their teeth, and they absolutely do not give a flying dutchman

they don’t even register the cheers and catcalling until JC runs up and dumps a bucket of water over their heads

because dammit he hasn’t spent months running out of every room his parents and LQR are in just to watch his big brother pop his cherry get it on on the beach

the rest of the gang are all watching from the porch

WN and LXC look very awkward and embarrassed

JYL looks fond and is shaking her head

JC meanwhile is having a heated argument with WQ because there were bets on you see

WQ ‘pouring a bucket of water over them is cheating I’m not paying you one penny JC’

JC ‘I’m a pirate why on earth would you expect me to play by the rules pay up Captain’

WWX and LWJ sneak away while they’re all arguing

The General has one new crew member when she next sails out

ANYWAY married gay pirates wangxian having adventures AU is what we’re saying

Also for your consideration other delightful Pirate!AU options include:

naval officer!lwj chasing down pirate!wwx (think norrington/sparrow if Disney weren’t COWARDS);

high society!lwj in love with blacksmith-turned-pirate!wwx (the Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner dynamic, except with Swann in the forge fight because we said so);

davy jones!lwj pining for calypso!wwx (carving your heart out = chest brand anyone? seriously, just imagine LWJ setting foot on dry land for the first time in 13, 16, 10 YEARS, playing the song he’s composed for his love and WWX IS NOT THERE!!!!) 

[wrestlingisfake]

Hard to Kill preview

Kenny Omega & Doc Gallows & Karl Anderson vs. Rich Swann & Chris Sabin & Moose - When Kenny Omega won the AEW men’s world title on December 2, he completed a long-simmering heel turn by forming an alliance with Impact Wrestling executive Don Callis.  Omega and Callis began showing up on both Impact and AEW programming acting like Omega is “the real world champion,” which irritated Impact world champion Rich Swann.  Omega also reunited with Impact’s men’s tag team champions, Gallows and Anderson, who had already been having issues with former champs Chris Sabin and Alex Shelley.

This match was originally booked as Omega/Gallows/Anderson vs. Swann/Sabin/Shelley, but the day before the show Impact announced that “unavoidable circumstances” prevented Shelley from traveling to the show in Nashville.  Shelley’s last-minute replacement is Moose, who has recently been feuding with Swann.  For over eight months, Moose has been calling himself the “TNA world champion,” presumably to set up a “who’s the real champion?” match with the Impact world champion.  But that seems kind of silly now that Omega and Swann are kind of doing the same thing, but with more credibility.  So I was hoping they’d get Swann vs. Moose wrapped up before Swann vs. Omega got going.  I certainly wasn’t expecting Moose to be involved in this match.

Because of Omega and the AEW interpromotional angle, this may well be the biggest show Impact has run in years.  So Impact is motivated to deliver the best they can for whatever new audience this match will attract.  The big question is whether AEW is invested enough to send a few of their guys to appear on this show for a hot angle.  Any unadvertised AEW wrestler causing any kind of ruckus on this show will get people talking.  But AEW and Impact seem to be taking their time with this storyline, and they may not think now is the time to drop the next bombshell plot point.

To me, the likeliest finishes are a) Omega’s team dominates and wins to get more heat, or b) Swann scores the winning fall to set up an Omega vs. Swann singles match.  The best setup for that match would be Swann pinning Omega, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.  But if they sell it like Omega’s team are the heavy favorites, and that Omega’s ego is bruised by an upset even if he didn’t lose the fall, then that can still work.  But then again, that was my gut feeling before Moose was added to the match.  Now it feels far more likely that Moose will turn on his partners or walk out on them, which could change the entire complexion of the match.  That uncertainty has me pretty interested in how things unfold.

Eddie Edwards vs. Sami Callihan - This is billed as a “barbed wire massacre” match, so the ring ropes will be replaced with barbed wire, and objects wrapped in barbed wire will be provided at ringside to use as weapons.  Obviously, in this sort of match nobody is going to be disqualified or counted out. 

I can’t say I understand the storyline leading up to this.  Edwards and Callihan had a vicous feud following a 2018 incident where Callihan botched a spot and hit Edwards in the face with a baseball bat.  Then they seemed to go down separate paths, and then recently Sami and Ken Shamrock started picking on Edwards and his wife for some reason.  The idea now appears to be that these two will never be able to settle it, except that they both clearly put it all aside for the better part of a year.  In any case, they’ve run out of hardcore stips to use in their matches, so here we are.

I believe this is the fourth “barbed wire massacre” match Impact has booked.  The first two were on pay-per-view in 2005 and 2008.  The third was taped for television in 2018, but was only streamed on Twitch because it was “too violent for TV.”  I remember watching the first one (Abyss vs. Sabu) in 2005 and being too squeamish to enjoy the performance.  In matches like this you have to hope the wrestlers know what they’re doing and don’t go too far just to create a “moment.”  But with Callihan and Edwards, that doesn’t apply, so I just have to hope the match was taped in advance, so that if one of them was gravely injured we’d have seen reports about it by now.

Both of these guys are pushed as top acts in Impact, but Callihan always seems to come up short in big matches like this.  I can’t see either guy accepting defeat and letting the feud end.  But if this is really the final chapter, then I think Edwards needs the last laugh more than Sami does.

Deonna Purrazzo vs. Taya Valkyrie - Purrazzo is defending the Impact women’s championship. Valkyrie held the title from January 2019 to January 2020--the longest single reign in the title’s history--but after losing the belt she spent 2020 preoccupied in comedy stuff with Rosemary and John E. Bravo.  So Taya’s doing the whole “you’ve only done so well as champion because I haven’t gotten around to facing you” bit.

I haven’t been able to get into Impact’s women’s division.  I suppose it’s because so many of the characters seem superficial and unserious.  Like, Purrazzo is presented as a solid in-ring performer, but outside the ring she’s the kind of self-absorbed chicken heel who plots with her sidekick to devise ways to duck upcoming challengers.  Impact is full of characters like that, but the women’s division in particular has almost nothing else.  Hell, Taya was playing that role when she was the heel champion.  So I can’t say I’m very motivated to see these two fight.  I also don’t really believe we’re going to get a title change at this point.

Manik vs. Chris Bey vs. Rohit Raju - This is a three-way match for the X division championship, so whoever scores the first fall over any opponent will win Manik’s title.  This story started with Bey as champion and Raju as his crony, but Raju was the one henchman in wrestling history who managed to manipulate his boss to his advantage, so Raju won the title from Bey in a three-way with TJP.  Raju was so worried about losing his belt to TJP that he arranged a stipulation where TJP could no longer challenge him.  Then Raju issued an open challenge answered by Manik...the masked man character originally played by TJP.  So now Manik is the champion and definitely not TJP, but Raju and Bey aren’t buying it.

I don’t really care who wins this.  Every time they do a multi-man match for the X title, they demonstrate that multi-man matches don’t settle anything, because there’s always somebody who’s like “Well I wasn’t pinned, so I should get another match!”  So if, for example, Bey pins Raju, you know it’s just going to lead to Bey vs. TJP and/or Manik later.  Except Raju is going to weasel his way into the situation, for another three-way.  (Unless Crazzy Steve is free that weekend, and it’ll be a four-way.)  There’s no direction here. The best thing that could happen to the X title (aside from retiring it as an obsolete relic) is if some AEW guys came in to fight for it.  And I don’t expect that to happen soon.

Havok & Neveah vs. Tasha Steelz & Kiera Hogan - This match is the tournament final to decide which team will be awarded the Impact women’s tag team championship.  The title was originally introduced in 2009, but a lack of interest in booking it properly led to ODB teaming with Eric Young to win the belts in March 2012.  The last title defense I can find was in May 2012, although it took over a year for Impact to officially abandon the championship.

I can see why Impact was motivated to bring the title back, since throughout 2020 most of their women’s roster was paired off in various alliances: Taya Valkyrie & Rosemary, Deonna Purrazzo & Kimber Lee, Kylie Rae & Susie, etc. But just because most of the women on the roster have a natural partner doesn’t mean there are enough women to fill out a tag team division.  I suspect these two teams are going to end up rematching a lot for the tag belts, while the teams they eliminated in the tournament go back to focusing on singles action.  If just having women’s tag titles automatically meant expanding the women’s roster and pushing more women, then that would be great.  But we’ve seen that it doesn’t work that way, not only in WWE, but also the last time Impact tried it.

My gut feeling is that Steelz and Hogan have more future potential, so I’d probably prefer to put the title on them.  But Havok and Neveah have the edge in size and meanness, and I could easily see Impact wanting them to dominate as the champions a la the Road Warriors.

Eric Young & Cody Deaner & Joe Doering vs. Cousin Jake & Rhino & Tommy Dreamer - This is being called an “old school rules” match, which is Impact’s way of saying “ex-ECW guys are in this so we want to say ‘extreme rules’ but WWE trademarked that.” Basically there are no count-outs or disqualifications.  Cody and Jake were a tag team until Deaner became obsessed with proving himself against Young; when he failed, he turned on Jake and joined Young’s group.  Rhino tried to help Jake out, but it wasn’t until Tommy Dreamer got involved that they were able to even the odds.  I’m pretty sure Young’s faction is just getting started and they are going to destroy the babyfaces here.

Ethan Page vs. The Karate Man - Page is one half of The North, which spent most of 2019-2020 dominating the men’s tag team division.  Karate Man is the alter ego of...Ethan Page.  So he’s fighting himself.  That’s always fun.

The backstory here is that the North struggled to recover from losing the tag title earlier this year, and Page grew increasingly desperate to convince Josh Alexander that they could regroup. The tipping point was when Alexander was wrestling Brian Myers and Karate Man interfered, causing Josh to get disqualified.  Page did a skit where he tried to get therapy from Karate Man, before they decided to fight instead.

The bigger story behind all this is that Page’s contract with Impact Wrestling reportedly expired at the end of 2020, so he’s technically not even with the promotion anymore.  Reportedly, this “match” was taped weeks ago.  Just because Page is a free agent doesn’t mean he won’t simply re-sign with Impact at any moment.  But this looks to be his swan song before he moves on...or the pivotal angle that sets up how he’s staying.

Obviously this is going to have to be pre-taped with Patty Duke Show special effects.  I’m not sure if that means it’ll be a ~*~cinematic match~*~ though.  They could do a weird brawl in a weird location like the Boneyard Match or Stadium Stampede, or they could just do it on the normal set in a normal ring and not do anything weird except the split screen effects.  I honestly don’t know what to expect.

Rosemary & Crazzy Steve vs. Tenille Dashwood & Kaleb with a K - Rosemary and Steve used to be in The Decay together years ago, and occasionally Impact remembers that and has them interact.  Tenille is formerly Emma from WWE, playing a stuck-up Instagram influencer gimmick with Kaleb as her personal assistant.  Rosemary already beat Dashwood in the setup to this match, and I don’t think Kaleb is going to last long against Steve, so I guess the weirdo babyfaces will triumph.

Josh Alexander vs. Brian Myers - This is scheduled for the pre-show.  As noted above, Alexander and Ethan Page had some issues that came to a head when Page caused Alexander to lose a match to Myers.  So Josh wants to avenge that loss.  It’s kinda funny to me that the serious match about wins and losses and professionalism is on the pre-show while the “Ethan Page beats himself up” comedy is on the main show.  But anyway, it seems like Alexander is headed for a singles push, so he might as well get that started with a win.

[wordsintimeandspace]

Better With You (6/6)

Due to a petty feud between their respective department heads, Crowley and Aziraphale have been hiding their friendship for months. When they’re suddenly stuck in lockdown amidst a pandemic, Crowley is not coping well. Thankfully, Aziraphale is there for him - but their changing relationship means that keeping secrets from their bosses only becomes more of a challenge.

Crowley/Aziraphale, rated M (for chapter 4). Read on tumblr or AO3.

Crowley let out a long breath as he logged out of the last video conference of the week and closed his laptop. They had made it. A whole week of hiding and lying and deceiving, and all of it had paid off. They’d managed to keep their secret. Most of the week had gone by smoothly, after their rough start on Monday, but Crowley was still relieved. He hadn’t been able to shake the residual anxiety of being discovered completely, especially since Hastur kept pestering him about his secret boyfriend. Crowley wasn’t sure what pissed him off more - the invasive questions or that Hastur was actually right for once.

A knock on the door made Crowley look up, and he smiled as he took in Aziraphale standing in the doorframe.

“All done?” Aziraphale asked, answering Crowley’s smile with a blinding one of his own, as if they hadn’t seen each other all day instead of spending over an hour in an awkward video conference with Gabriel and Beelzebub earlier.

Crowley nodded and stretched his hands over his head, making his spine pop. “Yeah. Last bits of software testing done, documentation written, project successfully deployed to the client.”

Aziraphale crossed the room to wrap his arms around Crowley’s shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Very good.”

“How about you?”

“I’m on call for the rest of the day, but unless there’s any problems I’m all ready for the weekend.”

“Good. Do you still want to join me when I stop by my place?”

“Yes. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Angel.” Crowley glanced up at him, covering Aziraphale’s hands on his shoulders with his own. “Course I do.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were gleaming, filled with tenderness. “Good. Are you hungry? We could order dinner before we leave, or wait until we’re back.”

“Not really,” Crowley admitted. He grinned up at Aziraphale. “You’re still keeping me well fed with all your baked goods. Terrible for my blood sugar, you are.”

“You don’t have to eat them, you know,” Aziraphale scoffed.

“Can’t let them go bad, can I? Would be such a waste of food.”

Aziraphale’s lips twitched. “How kind of you to make this sacrifice. Come on then,” he said as he pulled Crowley to his feet. “Let’s go water your plants before I change my mind.”

~~~

It felt strange, to step back into his dimly lit flat. It had only been a week since he’d been there, but the dark, sparsely furnished corridor was such a stark contrast to Aziraphale’s cluttered and welcoming space that it almost felt like he was entering a stranger’s home instead of his own. Crowley let out a shuddering breath, nervously fiddling with the keys in his hand before stepping aside to let Aziraphale in as well.

The door fell shut behind them with a heavy thud. Quietly, Aziraphale let his gaze wander over the blank walls. “Oh, it’s, err… nice,” he eventually said, but Crowley could see the crease on his face even in the dim light.

Crowley snorted. “No it’s not, you don’t have to pretend. Come on.”

He led Aziraphale through the corridor into the main part of the flat, his steps echoing from the walls. He ignored both the living room and the bedroom as they passed it, mind focused only on the sole thing he had missed during his week at Aziraphale’s place.

The evening sun fell through the high windows of the plant room, painting the room in golden light. Crowley smiled as he took in the comforting sight of his plants and the familiar smell of soil. He held open the door for Aziraphale, gesturing him to step inside first.

“Ohh,” Aziraphale breathed out in wonder as he slowly wandered into the room. “Oh, Crowley, they’re beautiful.”

The praise ran down Crowley’s spine like a shiver. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he took in Aziraphale, his eyes gleaming as sunlight danced over his cheeks. Aziraphale stepped closer to a monstera that grew high towards the ceiling, and brushed his fingers over a leaf with such a gentleness that Crowley felt a short, irrational pang of jealousy.

“They could do better,” he hissed as he stepped at Aziraphale’s side, squinting at the plant. “I see some drooping leaves. I will not stand for drooping leaves.”

“Oh, do be nice to them,” Aziraphale protested. “It’s a hard time for all of us.”

“There are leaf spots, angel. They know exactly what I think about leaf spots.”

Aziraphale tutted. “I’m sure they’re trying their best. Just like we all do. They just need a bit of love and support, and they will be right as rain.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s eyes on him, even as he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Suddenly, he had the unsettling feeling they weren’t just talking about the bloody monstera Aziraphale was still petting. He let out a strangled sound from the back of his throat.

“Water,” he croaked out. “I’ll get some water.” And with that, he grabbed the plant mister and the watering can and stormed out of the room.

Aziraphale was still tending to the plants when he came back, murmuring something under his breath that Crowley couldn’t quite make out. Slowly, he wandered around the room to check on each plant, testing the soil and watering them, searching each leaf for any sign of damage, gently spraying them with water until they were shining in the golden evening light. Most of the plants were in good condition, as lush and beautiful as ever, but a few of them were a little limper than he’d like. He tried to swallow his bad conscience for abandoning them in such a hurry for a whole week.

“I think I’ll have to check on them a little more often,” Crowley said eventually, breaking the companionable silence between them. “Can’t trust these buggers to stay in line without me.”

“You could just move them to my place,” Aziraphale suggested, and Crowley froze in the middle of misting a ficus. He turned to Aziraphale, eyes wide.

“What?” he croaked out.

Aziraphale startled, as if he was only now realizing what he’d said. A blush crept onto his cheeks “I, oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t just presume,” he stammered. “I just thought, well, that what we’re doing might be a long-term solution. I’m sorry. You don’t have to stay indefinitely of course, I’d understand if you’d want to go back to your flat once they lift some of the restrictions, or even before that-”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted him. “Why the hell would I want to do that?”

Aziraphale let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know. Not getting on your nerves yet, am I?”

Crowley laughed. “No. Course not. Am I?”

“Definitely not.”

Grinning, Crowley set down the plant mister and stepped closer to Aziraphale. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Aziraphale huffed. “I was under the impression that I had already done it one week ago.”

Affection bloomed in Crowley’s chest, so sweet it was almost suffocating, and he crossed the last distance between them in two long strides. Cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands, he pressed his lips down to Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale’s arms were around his waist in just an instant. He angled his head, making it easier for them to slide their lips together, and let out a happy sigh against Crowley’s lips.

No matter how many times they had kissed over the last week, this kind of contact still sent a thrill through Crowley. He felt utterly and completely addicted to Aziraphale’s gentle touch, to his soft lips and his strong arms around him. Crowley had lost track of how many hours they had spent like this already, kissing just for the kissing’s sake, to be close to each other and to explore each other’s lips, instead of taking it as a first step to something more. Aziraphale had been more than happy to let Crowley set the pace over the week, never pushing, never asking for more, but tonight Crowley craved more contact. Aziraphale’s body suddenly couldn’t be close enough.

Carefully, without ever breaking the kiss, Crowley steered Aziraphale through the room until his back hit the window. Aziraphale let out a gasp of surprise, but readily adjusted his stance so that Crowley could step between his legs and press him against the glass properly. Crowley groaned at the friction, pulling away from Aziraphale’s lips only to pepper kisses along his jaw and down his neck. He was just loosening the bow tie to get better access when he was startled by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

He let out another groan, an exasperated one this time, and pressed his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck as he waited for the irritating caller to give up.

“Don’t you want to take this?” Aziraphale asked, sounding slightly out of breath.

“No. Ignore it,” Crowley mumbled, once again tugging at Aziraphale’s bow tie. But as soon as he finally got it off him, they were interrupted by Aziraphale’s shrill ringtone. Crowley startled at the sudden noise, jumping a step back. A pained expression crossed Aziraphale’s face as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Let me just turn this off and we can- oh.”

“What?” Crowley frowned as he watched Aziraphale’s face turn white.

“It’s Gabriel. I need to call back.”

Before he could, Crowley’s phone vibrated again. He swore under his breath as he dug it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. His stomach dropped as he saw who it was. Beelzebub.

He raised head to meet Aziraphale’s worried gaze.

“Shit.”

“Do you think they know?” Aziraphale asked, his voice wavering.

“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted, reaching out to squeeze Aziraphale’s hand. “But it’s gonna be okay, angel. We’re in this together, yeah?”

A small smile appeared on Aziraphale’s lips. “Yes. Together,” he said, squeezing Crowley’s hand in return.

~~~

To Crowley’s relief, Gabriel and Beelzebub had not called to confront them both with their fraternizing. Not that it mattered. The alternative didn’t seem much better, Crowley had to admit. Maybe he would be transferred to Siberia after all.

“... not sure yet what the exact problem was, but the setup of our software crashed their entire server,” Gabriel explained, the tension on his face clear even through the small screen and the blurry camera. “It’s all down, even their website. They’re trying to restart the main server right now.”

“I don’t know how that could have happened!” Crowley protested, panic rising in his chest. “We did all the required software tests. Dagon approved my code, for fucks sake. This shouldn’t be possible.”

“It doesn’t matter how,” Beelzebub hissed, making Crowley flinch. He was glad he wasn’t in the same room with them, but their irritation made his skin crawl even from the distance. “It only matters that we find the bug and fix it. And hope there isn’t some irreversible data loss.”

“Don’t they have a backup? Or set up their server permissions properly? Even if there is a problem in the code, they should have security measures to make sure a stupid piece of software doesn’t just melt their whole IT infrastructure.”

“We’re not sure what their internal IT did. We’re trying to get a hold on them,” Aziraphale said. He nervously wrung his hands in front of his belly. “It’s proving to be a little difficult. They’re busy with getting things running again.”

“Even if part of the problem is on their side, it’s still our job to fix this,” Gabriel continued with a pained expression on his face. “This is one of our most important customers. We can’t afford to lose them over this, not in the current economy.”

Crowley groaned, letting his head loll back. “Great. Fucking fantastic.”

“Crowley, calm down,” Beelzebub snapped, glaring at him. “I’m waiting for a call from our system administration to see if they can help, but in the meantime, stop whining and make yourself useful. Double-check the code. Triple-check it, if necessary.”

Crowley took a deep breath. All he wanted was to sink into Aziraphale’s arms, at least for a moment until he felt calm enough to face this mess. But with Gabriel and Beelzebub watching, it didn’t matter that Aziraphale was just in the other room. He might as well be miles away. Aziraphale’s frown grew more and more concerned as Crowley struggled to answer, so he forced himself to put on a brave face.

“Okay,” he breathed out, pulling up the code to get to work.

Crowley had barely started when the ringtone of a phone sounded over the speaker, the sudden noise making him jump. He switched back to the video conference just in time to see Gabriel snatch up a phone, frowning at the screen.

The next moments felt like a dream, or a hallucination maybe, so bizarre that Crowley’s brain struggled to keep up and understand what was really happening. He watched as Gabriel let out a sigh. “System administration,” he said, and Crowley had barely time to wonder why they would call Gabriel instead of Beelzebub when both of them reached out at the same time. He couldn’t see the brush of hands, but he doubted he would believe it even if he could. He already struggled to wrap his head around the fact that Beelzebub suddenly had the phone in their hand, picking up before bringing it to their ear.

Crowley stared, his mouth hanging open. He was vaguely aware that Aziraphale stared as well. Beelzebub got up and walked away from the conference as they took the call, shortly appearing in the background of Gabriel’s video before vanishing out of sight. Gabriel seemed unbothered, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Aziraphale was the first to break the silence. “But- I mean… what? Gabriel?” he stammered.

Gabriel looked up into the camera. “Yes?”

“How- why- I mean… are you two in the same room?”

“Of course.” Gabriel laughed, as if the idea wasn’t just completely bonkers. Crowley still couldn’t bring his face to work properly, let alone form any coherent words. “We have been since lockdown started. Didn’t you notice?”

Aziraphale only gaped at him. Crowley finally managed to regain control of his features and snapped his mouth shut. “But… you hate each other,” he exclaimed after Gabriel didn’t elaborate.

Gabriel shrugged. “Well. Only sometimes. Not generally.”

“Then what is this… this thing,” Crowley protested, gesturing wildly in an attempt to encompass the peculiarity that was Gabriel and Beelzebub. “Whatever it is that you’re usually doing? That thing where you look like you want to tear each other apart in every single meeting?”

“Oh, that’s nothing serious.” Gabriel shot them a toothy smile and, to Crowley’s utter horror, winked at them. “A little workplace rivalry can do wonders to keep a relationship exciting, let me tell you.”

“Relationship?!” Aziraphale cried out, suddenly thrown out of his stupor.

Gabriel let out an exasperated sigh. “Why do you think we’re spending lockdown together, Aziraphale?”

“But… relationships in the company are forbidden! It says so in the policies!” Aziraphale protested.

“That only applies to an employee and their supervisor within the same department. You know, to prevent any abuse of power. Have you actually read the policies?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut before any sound left his throat. All the colour drained from his face.

Crowley could only stare at him. He had never bothered to read the blasted policies. He’d always taken Aziraphale’s word for it. “You haven’t?! Honestly?” he snapped before he could stop himself.

“I thought you did!” Aziraphale cried. ”It was you who brought it up the first time, wasn’t it?”

“No! Definitely wasn’t me!” Crowley yelled. Only then, in the silence that followed, did he realize what they’d just admitted. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach twisting in anxiety, but instead of looking surprised, or angry even, Gabriel only laughed.

“You thought this was forbidden? Really? Is that why you’re pretending you’re not in the same place?”

“We’re not, we’re-” Crowley stammered, at a loss of words. Heat rushed to his cheeks. “You knew?!”

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are. Not with the way you’ve both been looking at each other for months.”

“But… you could have told us!” Aziraphale protested, the colour slowly returning to his face.

Gabriel barked out another laugh. “What, and disturb whatever Romeo and Juliet reenactment you had going on? Please. It kept the office entertained and the attention away from Bee and me. Do you know there’s a betting pool on when you’ll finally get together? I think I’m about to win fifty quid.”

Crowley sagged in his chair, not sure what else to say. Aziraphale seemed at a loss of words as well. They were both saved from coming up with a response when Beelzebub suddenly reappeared.

Beelzebub took in the awkward silence and Gabriel’s amused smile. “What happened?” they buzzed.

“Nothing,” Crowley said quickly, not very keen to discuss their relationship any further. “What did they say?”

Beelzebub blinked, not looking convinced, but didn’t press the issue. “The system administration people had a look at the logs, and they think it was a problem with how computing resources were allocated on the client’s system, together with a memory leak caused by a different program. The setup of our software was just the last straw for their already overwhelmed system. They’re sending someone over to help sort this out.”

Crowley let out a long breath. “Nothing wrong with our software, then?”

“Probably not,” Beelzebub buzzed, before fixing Crowley with another stern glare. “I still want another code review before they try to set it up again. But that can wait until next week.”

They finally said their goodbyes, both Crowley and Aziraphale still quiet and trying to avoid Gabriel’s smug smile. As soon as he had closed the video conference, Crowley sagged in his chair. He felt tired, all of a sudden, and angry, just a little bit, that all this worrying had been for nothing. But most of all he felt relief. He got to his feet on shaking legs to get to the kitchen, only to run into Aziraphale right in the corridor. They silently looked at each other for a moment before Crowley lunged forward.

“I’m mad at you,” he groaned, even as he buried his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Honestly. I can’t believe you.”

Aziraphale held him close, his arms around Crowley’s shoulders and his nose pressed into his hair. “It was both our fault, really.”

“Was it?! You honestly expected me to read the blasted policies?”

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You could at least have double-checked what I was saying.”

Crowley only grumbled in response.

“Crowley, do you realize what this means?”

“What?”

Aziraphale pulled back, enough to cup Crowley’s face in his hands and kiss him long and deep before speaking. “We’re free to be together in any way we want to, without consequences, without repercussions. I can talk about you, call you my partner, without worrying who might hear. I get to hold your hand, and I get to kiss you, without worrying who might see. I don’t have to hide my affection. I could tell the whole world how much I love you.”

Crowley’s breath hitched. Tears burned in his eyes as he held Aziraphale’s gaze, drowning in his gleaming eyes, oh so blue and filled to the brim with affection. “I love you too,” he croaked out, and Aziraphale’s answering smile was bright like a star. He pressed his lips back down onto Crowley’s, passionate and hungry in a way that made Crowley’s head swim. For a second Crowley feared his legs would give out, but Aziraphale held him close, held him upright, just like he had done over the past week after it had felt like Crowley’s entire world had crumbled around him.

“Angel?” he murmured between kisses, as they slowly moved towards the bedroom.

“Yes, my darling?” Aziraphale purred as he led Crowley inside, coming to a stop beside the bed.

“I’m just- I’m just so glad you’re here,” Crowley gasped. “That I’m not alone anymore in all this mess.“

“Like you said earlier, we’re in this together, ” Aziraphale said softly, smiling brightly as he steered Crowley down onto the mattress. And Crowley let himself fall, closing his eyes, knowing that he would be caught, would be taken care of.

[monstersandmaw]

Male uruk hai (Mauhír) x reader - Part Three (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

(mostly sfw/very very light nsfw) It kicks in almost immediately, hence the super short preview...

Whoop! Who remembers Mauhir? Well, in case you don't, here are Parts One and Two.  My patrons over on Patreon have already devoured this, so if you want to be a part of everything before it happens over here, as well as having access to exclusives (this month it’s a naga boy!), then why not sign up to my Pixies and Goblins tier?

Hope you enjoy this - don't forget to let me know if you did by reblogging, dropping a like or even leaving me a comment/ask. I can't tell you how much that means to me when you do, but I don't necessarily expect it. I just hope you enjoy it - that’s the most important thing! :)

Content: 6048 words, some blood/conflict (not particularly explicit), death of a very minor character, a bit of angst, and lots of fluff (because it's me!).

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The morning after Mauhír and Okash had had their vicious fight over you, the Uruk stirred early, as usual, and grunted softly. You had been awake for only a short time, having warily watched the chief rise and leave the tent from the other side. Okash was nowhere to be seen, and you’d guessed she hadn’t returned last night. You honestly hoped she was lying passed out in a ditch full of warg shit.

You shifted slightly and realised that Mauhír was still pressed up close against your back, only now, his hips ground ever so slightly against you, and his left hand twitched suddenly, knuckly fingers clenching as his weighty arm lay draped across your waist. His hard length pressed against you too, and you felt a stirring of heat in your own groin that was most unexpected, given the circumstances of your captivity.

You rolled over just enough to be able to look at him and lay there a while, simply watching his sleeping form. Every now and again he let out a deep, guttural grunt which usually coincided with a sharper roll of his hips. His face was still puffy and tender from the blows his sister had dealt him, and his purplish brown skin had darkened under the bruises which covered his scarred face. As he slowly climbed to the surface of consciousness, his eyes opened and he blinked, looking straight at you.

“Pleasant dreams?” you asked coyly, and his tusked smile made you snort with laughter. He wasn’t in the least bit embarrassed about the nature of his dreams.

“Yes,” he rasped, deep voice made even thicker than usual by the extensive swelling and bruising. “You want… I stop?”

Crushingly, you didn’t get the chance to say one way or the other, because the chief re-entered, striding across the hide-strewn floor, and yelled something at Mauhír without looking at him, grabbing his huge war axe from where it rested beside his own sleeping furs.

“What is it?” you asked as Mauhír levered himself upright, still sporting an impressive hard on that was visible through his underclothes, though for how much longer you weren’t sure because the war horns were sounding, harsh and cruel on the morning air. He dressed hurriedly into his leather and fur wrappings.

Mauhír grunted in pain as he straightened and prepared to head out. “War band,” he said. “Centaurs.”

“Centaurs… You think…?”

“I think your friend is stupid,” he growled.

If Erica had convinced the centaurs to come raiding against this belligerent band of Uruk Hai, then she was indeed foolish. “She wouldn’t…”

“Stay here,” he snarled, grabbing his own war axe and hefting its weight in his scarred hand.

When you scowled at him, he leaned down and grabbed your tunic by the collar, hauling your whole body up off the furs by at least a foot and leaning in close to snarl in your face.

“Stay. Here.” His voice was threatening in a way that you’d not witnessed before and he shook you emphatically with each word as though you were a disobedient pup.

“You’re frightened,” you whispered, seeing a new light in his puffy, golden eye.

“For you,” he said, dropping you unceremoniously back into the furs. He strode away, whistling to Avhundas, who was already pacing in the main space of the tent, ears pricked and her ugly face alert and wary.

He didn’t look back at you as he made his way to the tent flaps, and you sat up sharply and called after him, “Mauhír!”

Only then did he pause, and he squinted, clearly having a hard time seeing you with his one remaining, bruised eye. He looked honestly incredible; his dark, purplish-brown legs built like tree trunks, powerful thighs barely covered by the leather wrapping he wore around his hips like a gladiator, his torso covered only by his scars, and his long hair hanging down his back in a bead and bone studded braid.

“Please be careful,” you whispered.

He grinned at you, scars stretching on his face, and nodded once before striding out into the daylight.

Beyond, the camp seemed to have exploded.

Tramping feet, clanking weapons, blaring horns and the yipping and yowling of wargs formed a chaotic backdrop to your own fear, and you crept closer to the tent flaps and peered out.

Okash was there, yelling at a group of Uruks who had just mounted up onto their own wargs. Avhundas was one of them, and Mauhír kept her at the back until Okash jabbed a finger at him and then pointed at the main camp gate. He simply nodded, no sign of their previous feud in his features, and dug his heels into his warg’s side. She sprang away at a gallop, large as a horse and muscular as an ox, and the pair had vanished through the camp gates in seconds.

“Be safe,” you prayed aloud. He was clearly a scout and had been sent to recce the situation.

A while later, Okash and the others followed him, with seemingly all of the other orcs in the camp proceeding on foot behind them. The excitement in the air was palpable, and you felt sick from their collective blood lust. You couldn’t help wondering that perhaps if you’d gone with Erica you could have stopped all this from ever happening.  

The appearance of a figure right in front of you made you jump and you startled backwards into the tent before realising it was another human. Simon, the blacksmith’s apprentice from your village, had been sent to work the forge fire with the Uruk smith, and he crouched down in front of you and hissed, “Relax; it’s only me.”

“What’s going on?” you asked, recovering quickly.

“As far as I can tell, a group of centaurs was spotted not far off wearing war gear and carrying spears. Ghorga seemed to think they were only scouting though, not intent on raiding…”

“Ghorga?”

“The smith,” he explained. “How have you been? I haven’t seen much of you around the camp, except at mealtimes when you serve the orcs their food…”

You shuddered, recalling hands on you in places you really didn’t want Uruk hands. Well, save perhaps for Mauhír’s. The thought so startled you that you nearly didn’t reply, but you cleared your throat and said, “It’s… It’s been better lately. Mauhír has sort of taken me under his wing a bit.”

Simon smiled. “Good. Ghorga’s kind of done the same with me.”

“Is she out with the others too now?”

He shook his head. “No, but she let me go see what was going on. Listen, I heard Erica escaped?”

Cold fear shot through you as you recalled the events of that evening, and you nodded. “Yeah. She ran away while Mauhír and his sister were fighting last night.”

“You think this has anything to do with that? You think we could escape too?”

You shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t see how we can…”

“We could drug their food…” Simon suggested.

The thought had occurred to you, but you didn’t have access to any poisons.

Glancing across the courtyard, you saw that Argash’s hut seemed abandoned and quiet, and you’d glimpsed a number of plants growing which might be useful in concocting a poison that would render them unconscious if slipped into their wine. “They’ll want to celebrate tonight when they get back,” you said, thinking on your feet. “They’ll all be drinking. If we can poison their wine, then the humans can escape the same way Erica did while they’re all unconscious.”

“You wouldn’t kill them?” he asked darkly.

“I don’t think there’s going to be enough poison for that,” you said carefully. “If I can even find any at all…”

After a little more discussion, you and Simon decided that you would head over to Argash’s hut and see what you could find. If you could prepare the poison and slip it into the wine casks on the far side of camp before they returned, you stood a chance of escaping. It was a slim hope, but it was all you had, and you didn’t intend to spend the rest of your life as a slave in an Uruk war camp. You also decided to keep this between you, in case anyone squealed in the hopes of getting preferential treatment from their captors. Plus, if it failed, no one’s hopes would be dashed but your own.

You walked carefully but confidently over to Argash’s little hut while Simon headed to the edge of the encampment to keep an eye open for any remaining orcs. Most of them seemed to have charged out onto the plains with only the thought of bloodsports in their minds, but if Ghorga had remained, then others would probably have done so too.

At the tent flaps of Argash’s home, you paused, straining all your senses. You couldn’t hear anyone stirring within. You hovered there, tense and frightened, before taking a deep breath and stepping inside. It was dark and your eyes took a while to adjust, but when they did, you almost screamed with shock. Sitting in the centre of her hovel was the old, gnarled, white-haired Uruk.

And she was looking straight at you with suspicious, red eyes.

“What are you doing in here, human?” she growled without getting up.

“I… um…” Your heart thudded so hard against your ribs that its frantic rhythm was all you were aware of until you croaked, “Forgive me for intruding. I thought… since I was a healer in my village, that I might be able to… help you… when they get back… in case anyone is injured…”

A slow, cruel smile spread across her gnarled face. “Really,” she said sarcastically. “And why would you want to do that?”

You shrugged, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile. It looked more like a nervous twitch than anything else. “Figured I might as well offer. If you don’t need another pair of hands, I’ll take my leave.” And you bowed awkwardly, hoping to back out of the entrance before she could decide that you’d been there for more nefarious reasons.

“Wait,” the old Uruk snarled, rising stiffly and grabbing a knotted walking cane from nearby. Her knuckly hands gripped it and you realised with a jolt that it was made from the horn of a huge creature, perhaps an aurochs, and was carved with a repeating design of skulls.

“Yes?” you croaked, mouth completely dry, throat constricting with fear.

“Come here…” and she shuffled to the back of her round yurt and drew out a bag of tools which she unrolled with relish on a table. “You know how to stitch a wound?”

You nodded.

“And you know what these are?” she said, waving a surprisingly steady hand over an array of pots and salves on the table beside the tool roll.

You shook your head this time and she smiled that yellow smile again. “Come here then and tell me.”

You worked out that most of the salves were made with honey, to help with healing and to prevent infection, and as you worked your way through them, sniffing and inspecting, she seemed quietly pleased with your knowledge.

“I don’t know what that one is though,” you said, pointing at the last one in the row.

Her nasty smile told you that it probably wasn’t a pleasant concoction. “It’s made of naga venom and the sting of a giant wasp,” she said, “Among other things. I use it most commonly on amputations after cauterising the stump.”

“Right,” you said, feeling a bit faint. There hadn’t been much call for amputations in the village where you’d lived before the Uruks had razed it to the ground.

“Works a treat on burns, though the pain is ten times worse than the burn itself for a while. I think I can use you,” she added, apparently satisfied.

She kept you there until the sound of returning Uruks heralded the end of the fighting, hours later. They were laughing, jeering, and whooping, and singing some kind of terrible song that made your bones crawl at the sound of it.

Argash stepped outside, leaving you alone in her tent. On the table before you were dried seeds which you had identified as henbane. Perfect. While these were poisonous to humans, they had the effect of rendering larger creatures like orcs and Uruks unconscious for hours, sometimes even days. You bit your lip and carefully slid them into your pocket with the blade of a knife, mindful not to touch them with your bare skin.

You followed Argash outside a moment later and gasped when you saw what the returning Uruks had with them. Between three wargs, none of which you recognised, a centaur was being dragged along the ground by the hooves, and he was dead, no mistaking it. Looking away from the gruesome sight before your stomach emptied itself, you scanned every face, searching for Mauhír, but there was no sign of him. A frantic fear bubbled up your throat like acrid bile and you stepped forwards unthinkingly, drawing Okash’s eye as you did so.

She laughed as she swung down off her own black warg and said, “Don’t worry, little human, your runt will be coming soon.”

Relief washed through you and your knees wobbled. Argash caught the reaction and tilted her head slightly but offered no comment on her private thoughts.

A moment later, a screaming neigh split the air and six huge Uruks appeared in the gateway to the camp with cruel lassos lashed around a centaur who was thrashing and kicking, bleeding and screaming. He was covered in bite marks and gashes, but even bloodied he was not giving up. Four wargs prowled, one on each side, one in front and the last behind him, and the one at the rear was Avhundas. She had blood on her muzzle and one of her ears was ripped, but sitting astride her was Mauhír.

When he saw you standing with Argash, his eyes lit up with fear, but he quickly masked it. He was carrying his arm awkwardly in his lap, and you realised his shoulder was dislocated. He was also cut on his ribs by what looked like a glancing kick from a centaur’s hoof.

He swung down off Avhundas’ back and strode over to Argash, who shook her head, tutting, and handed you her walking cane. It was heavier than it looked. The gentleness with which she put his shoulder back into place surprised you, and he only grunted his thanks and looked at you.

“I said stay there,” he said petulantly, jutting his blunt chin at his father’s tent.

“I came to see if I could be of any help to Argash,” you countered with a hot snarl, and the orcish healer laughed, ruffling your hair with her leathery hand.

“The human is knowledgeable, Mauhír,” she said before turning to you and added, “Perhaps you should have seen to your master…”

“He’s not my master,” you snarled, but Argash only snorted and shook her head, the bone and metal beads clacking in her hair.

Mauhír’s expression seemed proud at your defiance beneath the bruises on his face. “Come,” he said. “You heal these,” he grunted, pointing to the bleeding cuts on his body, “Then drink.”

You nodded, guilt blooming in the pit of your stomach.

As you walked behind him towards the main tent, you caught Simon’s eye and nodded once. He flashed a grin and turned away.

Mauhír’s dark growl made you look up at him, and you realised that he’d seen your interaction with Simon and misread it completley. When you smiled and made to follow him inside the tent, he sneered at you and brought the flat of his hand to the middle of your chest and pushed you backwards, hard. You landed heavily in the dirt, winded and confused, and he looked down at you with disgust in his eyes. “You are not mine.”

“Mauhír,” you said, but he rounded on you and spat his words out as though they were nightshade.

“Not speak my name,” he snarled. “Go. Go him…”

With a heavy heart, you realised that now was the perfect opportunity to poison the wine, so you picked yourself up and headed away from Mauhír towards the stores before they could begin to crack the casks open and start celebrating. Everyone was preoccupied with either tying up the captive centaur in the middle of the camp, lashing his hooves to four posts driven into the ground so that he had to stand with his legs splayed and his wrists tied to the front two posts, or with dangling the corpse of the other centaur off the palisade wall as a sick trophy.

You didn’t linger to watch either.

With the seeds administered equally to each cask, all you could do was wait. You prayed it would be enough. It wasn’t exactly as though you’d had time to measure out doses after all…

The celebrations began not long after that, with some orcs taking turns to sit on the centaur’s back as though he were a wild horse to be broken, degrading him and humiliating him while he could do nothing but stand there while they sat astride him until his legs shook. His shame was enough to turn your stomach. You decided that once the orcs were asleep, you would free him too.

‘If’ the orcs fell asleep…

For the first hour, they showed no signs of being affected in even the least little bit by the narcotic. They grew rowdier and rowdier by the minute, though you were pleased to note that Mauhír was nowhere to be seen. You assumed that he had remained in his father’s tent, but you weren’t about to go and check. If he didn’t want to see you any more, well, that just made leaving all the easier.

When the first orc went down, it was met with a cheer and a round of fresh drinks.

When the second and the third collapsed a few minutes later, the others began to look nervously around and reach for weapons. You stayed silently out of the way, sitting with Simon in the lea of the small forge, watching the orcs stagger and sway and finally hit the dirt.

When all of the orcs around the fire were finally down, you and Simon nodded at each other, and he handed you a dagger from Ghorga’s collection.

“I’ll free the centaur,” you said. “You start gathering the others. I’ll meet you outside the gate.”

He nodded once and set off at a run.

As you approached the centaur, he looked at you with wary, white eyes rolling and his chest heaving. He was exhausted but clearly his adrenaline had spiked again at your appearance from the shadows.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you said slowly, showing him the dagger. “I’m going to cut you loose. Tell me, did a woman named Erica find your herd last night?”

He nodded, tapering ears pressed flat against his flame-red hair. “Yes,” he croaked. “She said more humans were captured here.”

“Is that why your war party rode out?”

Again, the centaur nodded. “We were only scouting. They must have seen us in the distance and decided to attack.” He tossed the unconscious Uruks a disdainful look and turned back to you. “Was that your doing?”

You nodded and got to work on the ropes without waiting to see his reaction. Sawing through the thick ropes was slow going, even with the sharp blade, but eventually he was free and he staggered slightly before skittering out of the crude holding pen, haunches tucked nervously and dancing round in an apprehensive circle.

Simon appeared a second or two later with a group of humans following him like nervous ducklings, and you looked around and nodded. Everyone was here.

Turning back to the centaur, you said, “Will you take us to your herd?”

He nodded. “You can’t stay with us though,” he said. “You bring too much attention from these bastards. My name is Iarla, by the way. Come on, we shouldn’t hang around.”

You corralled the others into a group and turned to go, knife still in hand.

As you brought up the rear, something made you halt in the gateway and you turned to see Mauhír standing at the entrance of his father’s tent, holding the flaps to one side with his left hand. He was the only one who had not been present at the festivities, and he watched you and then nodded once, disappearing back into the shadows and letting the flap drop.

A hand on your shoulder made you jump, but it was Iarla. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You nodded and set off.

The trek to the centaur’s camp wasn’t all that arduous, but your feet still felt bruised and your legs like lead by the time you got there. Erica met you with a shriek of delight, and to your immense joy, you found that your older brother and the other humans who had been sent to the neighbouring Uruk tribe as tribute had been rescued perhaps four days earlier and were recovering well.

The reunion festivities were tempered however by the other centaur’s death and, more personally for you, your deception of Mauhír. You felt honestly terrible about it, but he had seen you go - let you go, even - and perhaps he was glad that you were out here, safe, and away from them.

You made plans with the centaurs to ride south in the morning, some of them even offering to let you ride on their backs to speed you on your way. Iarla was particularly grateful to you, and honoured you by offering to let you ride on his back. You accepted, despite not being particularly familiar with riding equine creatures. When you admitted as much, he just tossed his ginger head and laughed. “You let me do the work,” he said. “You just hold tight, and I’ll take care of everything.”

You curled up in a canvas tent that night and dreamed of Mauhír. You remembered in astonishing detail the way his body had felt against yours, the way his heat had seeped into your skin, the hardness of his muscles and of his morning wood against your body, and the gruff kindness in his voice. You missed him. And you worried for him.

Your brother woke some time after midnight and found you sitting up, hugging your knees, staring off into the darkness, and he touched you lightly on the shoulder. “What’s up, kiddo?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said, and as the lie rolled across your tongue, an alarm call went up from the centaur on watch.

You and your brother shot out of the tent and, illuminated by the moonlight washing over the cool, whispering grasses, you saw the figure of a warg walking slowly over the grasslands, up the rise towards the camp. At first you thought she was alone and when you rushed forwards crying, “Avhundas!” you were immediately held back by two centaurs, one of which was Iarla. “Let me go!” you hissed. “That’s Mauhír’s warg!”

“I don’t care who’s filthy animal that is,” Iarla growled. “I’m going to kill it!” There was an ash spear in his hand already.

“Wait!” you yelled, seeing something slumped over the shoulders of the warg. You wriggled free of the centaur’s grasp like a rabbit and shot forwards over the scrubby heathland towards Avhundas, calling her name in the hopes that she would recognise you and not attack.

She did recognise you and yipped softly, and as you drew level to her you saw that the figure draped across her shoulders was Mauhír, and that he was in a terrible state. He had an arrow sticking out of his ribs, and he was cut and bloodied beyond what you’d seen him endure at the hands of his sister.

“Come on, girl,” you said, turning around and leading the anxious warg into the camp. “If anyone hurts this warg or Mauhír I will kill them,” you said, the warning flashing in your eyes. The centaurs saw the sincerity in your words and nodded warily, though in truth there wasn’t much you could have done to stop them if they had turned on him. “He kept me alive, and he let me escape. Let me help him,” you demanded quietly.

Iarla snorted and stamped a hoof, coming closer, rearing and plunging. “That bastard is one of the ones who brought me in, bound with lassos like a common plains donkey!” he whickered.

“Did he lay a finger on you?” you countered hotly. “Did he hurt you?”

Iarla’s ears went back. “No,” he admitted. “But inaction is the same as action when it comes to injustice.”

“What was he supposed to do? Fight his entire clan singlehandedly for you?” you shouted. “He let you go, Iarla. He watched you leave tonight and did nothing to stop you. He as good as set you free. Will you deny him aid?”

“No,” the centaur scout said sullenly. “And neither will I stop you tending to him. But he leaves with you in the morning, or he dies here tonight.”

You nodded gruffly and signalled Avhundas to follow you, which she did.

“Lie down, girl,” you said, pointing at the ground at your feet. She got the message and carefully lay herself down. Despite the efforts she took not to jostle Mauhír, who was still draped across her shoulders, he slid onto the ground beside her, mercifully not onto his right side where the arrow was lodged. That was going to be a bugger to get out cleanly.

You used every ounce of your medical training that night in stitching him up and cleaning the wounds. The centaurs refused to help in the surgery, but they did provide you with silk and a needle, clean water and bandages.

He had clearly been beaten within an inch of his life before he’d managed to escape on Avhundas. It was only as you finished with Mauhír that you noticed the gash in the warg’s hind leg. She hadn’t even limped. You cleaned that, not without her snapping at you, but after a stern bop on the nose, she had behaved herself and allowed you to tend to her as well.

Simon came over when you were just bandaging the still unconscious Uruk up - with some considerable difficulty, and he looked at you with confusion and hurt in his eyes. “You’d treat one of them?” he asked harshly. “After what they did for you?”

“Mauhír protected me from his sister,” you said. “He fought with her to keep me from being humiliated and used and hurt, Simon. I trust him. I don’t trust any of the others further than I could throw them, but I trust him. Why else did Avhundas bring him here? He means us no harm.”

Simon just shook his head and stalked off.

It was another tense hour before Mauhír regained consciousness. He swallowed thickly and sat up, grunting, before you could stop him.

“Careful!” you yipped. “Fuck, Mauhír, you nearly died. Are you alright?”

“Where…?” he asked.

“Avhundas brought you to me, to the centaurs. You’re going to be alright, Mauhír.”

He nodded and brought his hand to the thick bandages around his ribs. “Thank you,” he said and then looked up at you. “Is that right? ‘Thank you’?”

You smiled and took his jaw in your palm. He leaned into it, closing his eyes. “Yes, Mauhír,” you said. “That’s right.”

“I cannot… go back,” he said. “I go… for you.”

“I know,” you said. “Thank you. It’s going to be alright.”

He sighed and his eyes fluttered as he fought to remain conscious. His blind eye drifted slightly when he was tired, and you smiled at the unexpected softness in him. “Sleep now, Mauhír. We have to leave in the morning. They won’t let us stay here any longer than that.”

The Uruk nodded and lay back, staring at the sky above him and the canopy of stars. You lay down on his uninjured side and snuggled close while Avhundas curled up behind his head and set herself on guard duty for the rest of the night.

You let your hands play over the solid, iron muscles of his abs and stomach, and he smiled, growling softly in pleasure like a big cat as you eased him towards sleep.

When dawn came, he woke suddenly and sat up, unceremoniously dislodging you from your perch on his shoulder. You expressed your displeasure with a curse and a light smack on his forearm, and he grinned playfully at you, tusks glinting in the dawn light.

The rest of the temporary camp was stirring and beginning their usual morning routines, and it wasn’t long before Mauhír was on his feet. The centaurs had no food for Avhundas, but Mauhír shared with her the hunk of bread they tossed him, and when you had all eaten, the humans and Mauhír gathered at the edge of camp, preparing to ride out with the centaurs.

Iarla gave Mauhír such a look of caustic hatred that you thought the two might come to blows, but Mauhír only ducked his head and mounted Avhundas, wincing as he landed gently on her back, clearly jolting the arrow wound in his ribs. Uruks healed quickly, but not that quickly.

You rode with the others in silence to the edge of the centaurs’ usual territory, and then further into the lusher, verdant valleys you knew from childhood.

“We’re almost home,” you said to Mauhír as you recognised the old lightning-blasted oak tree on the hill outside the remnants of your town.

“What will you do?” Iarla asked when he saw the blackened shells of the buildings, cold now and lying in disarray along the hard-packed dirt of the road.

You sighed. “I suppose they’ll rebuild…”

“And you?”

You looked over at Mauhír, riding silently on the edge of the cavalcade. “I suppose we’ll see…”

The Uruk managed a weak smile and you thanked Iarla for letting you ride him. “It can’t have been easy for you,” you said carefully in a quiet voice that only he could hear, “After what they did to you…”

He laughed wryly. “It was only too easy,” he said lightly. “You, I owe. Them… Them I’m going to make pay.”

“Take care of yourself, alright?” you said as you slithered off his back, steadying yourself on his warm, chestnut withers.

He nodded. “You too.”

The centaurs left and the humans headed off to pick through the remnants of their houses, but you remained with Mauhír on the outskirts of the former village. “What will you do?” you asked him.

He looked at you and blinked slowly. “I…” he shrugged and looked away. “I can fight,” he said. “Someone pay me… fight for them…”

You scowled. “You’re no mercenary, Mauhír. Stay with me.”

He shook his head, looking down at you from Avhundas’ high, sloping back. She carried herself like a hyena, and had the jaws to match. Now, however, she wagged softly, the wound in her flank seeming to trouble her not at all.

You nodded at the warg and said, “Avhundas seems to like it here…”

At the sound of her name on your lips, she swivelled her head to face you and whined once, stepping closer and nuzzling at your palm, tame as a princess’ lapdog.

“You want to stay here, girl?” you crooned patronisingly and she wagged her stumpy tail again. “Is that right? You want to stay with me?”

More wagging.

Mauhír rasped a laugh and slid carefully down from her back. He patted her rump and she took it as a signal to wander off and nose about after game trails in the long grass.

The Uruk took your hands in his and stared down at you with his mismatching gaze. His blind eye and extensive scars seemed starker and more out of place here in the softer terrain of the valley where you’d grown up, but you loved him no less here than you had out on the plains. “What… What you want… for me?” he asked awkwardly.

“For you to learn more Common, for a start,” you grinned, and he smiled good-naturedly, twin tusks gleaming. “And… to stay with me, I suppose.”

He jerked his chin over his shoulder towards where the other humans had gone, and said, “They… They not like Uruk here…”

“True. Perhaps we should hit the road together… you know… travel a bit. Just you, me, and Avhundas?”

“You… You leave…” he looked around him and gestured with his rough, scarred hands, “You leave this… for me?”

“Sure,” you shrugged. “There’s nothing much here for me now.”

Your brother called your name before Mauhír could respond, and you looked around to see him jogging over. He eyed Mauhír warily and hung back. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he said, and you nodded, letting go of Mauhír’s leathery hands and stepping away.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m… I’m not going to stay,” you said. “I can’t.”

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I didn’t think you would,” he admitted. “I saw the way you look at him, and the way he is around you. He’s different, isn’t he?”

You nodded.

“Fine,” he said with obvious difficulty, “But you keep in touch, you hear me?”

“I will.”

You hugged your brother and promised to visit, and then turned back to Mauhír who was watching you unblinkingly from a polite distance.

He cut a strange figure in the strong sunlight of the fertile valley, with his mottled purple-brown skin and deep scars, but as Avhundas trotted back over to him and bumped her forehead affectionately against his hip and as he fondled her ears the way a lord would fuss a beloved hunting hound’s ears, you smiled.

He looked back to you and suddenly seemed so vulnerable for all his steel muscles and intimidating looks.

“Let’s go,” you said as you walked back through the long grass towards him.

Mauhír had only his war axe on his back and his warg by his side, but in that moment he knelt before you and bowed his head. He said something in the harsh, guttural dialect of the Uruks and took your hand in his. Something told you that the words he spoke were an oath. He pressed your knuckles against his forehead with great solemnity and then rose. “I… I am… yours…” he said falteringly, embarrassed.

You smiled and reached your hands up around his neck, more pulling yourself up to meet him than tugging him successfully down to meet you. You pressed a kiss against his lips, avoiding his jutting tusks, and laughed as his eyes went wide with surprise. His hands grabbed your waist and then the curve of your cheeks, and he hoisted you unceremoniously up around his waist, heedless of his injuries, and he kissed you back, his hands holding you firmly in place.

You caught him wincing, and you said, “Put me down you big idiot. When you’re better, we can do this and much more, but not til then, alright?”

He growled wordlessly, nuzzling kisses against your neck, but eventually acquiesced when you continued to protest. He then set you up on Avhundas’ back and then hopped up behind you, holding you tightly.

He had no reins to control her, relying on his voice and his legs to guide her, and the three of you headed out of the village and down the road, still heading south, towards a new life together and towards whatever your new road would bring.

His warm weight was a comfort behind you, and as the day wore on and your legs began to get sore from riding so long, you let yourself lean back against his bare chest. He kissed the top of your head and pressed on, leaving his clan and everything familiar behind.

And it was all for you.

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[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

What a long strange trip...

One of the things about almost never being able to leave the house (even before COVID) is that it can be fun to binge on things. The last couple of weeks with wrestling, though, has been intense. I try to keep on top of things but damn... I guess I should thank the lads and lasses for keeping me entertained. Anyway, here are a few things that I liked and didn’t like that happened in the promotions I follow. 

Stuff I liked

Drew retaining the title against Randy Orton: I don’t kid myself, I know he’s losing it soon because Vince apparently wants to build to Orton v Edge at WM 37, but I’m going to be really sad when it happens and I don’t like being sad.

Asuka winning the Raw title: I absolutely adore Sasha but this was the right storyline move AND builds the storyline with her and Bayley. Also, we’re going to get Asuka vs Shayna WHICH WILL SLAY.

Brodie Lee beating Cody for the TNT title: It’s not just that it was time to put it on someone else but the way they did it was incredible. Completely unexpected. Also...

The elevation of Anna Jay: Girlfriend has had about a dozen matches IN HER LIFE. She’s ridiculously talented and on top of that, her wordless reactions have been top notch. Give her a few more months to get more experience and she is going to be a star. 

Hangman getting kicked out of The Elite: Just tear my heart out and stomp on it and then set it on fire, why don’t you? This story has been simmering for a YEAR. Hangman is this tragic hero figure who feels totally isolated and desperately wants to be loved. The split with the Bullet Club Ogs and the Marty getting left behind when AEW was formed has left him as the odd one out with the original BTE crew (Kenny and the Bucks). He doesn’t have the bond the way they do. (Plus he’s not straight edge the way they are.) FTR have seized on his vulnerability and made him feel like they get him. After All Out he’s going to be heartbroken and alone.

Naito winning back the Heavyweight and IC titles: The feeliest goodest moment. It’s like the whole Evil turn was done just to bring this about. 

Kenta winning the US title opportunity: Ok, I’ve had a thing for Kenta for ages but I also love the idea of him v Moxley. I also love the idea that this match *maybe might* happen on AEW. They teased collaborating with the Tanahashi/ Jericho match. Why not do this one instead.

Heel Roman? Ok, not 100% confirmed, but pretty much. I’ve wanted a Roman heel turn since the actual Roman Empire, I swear. 

Stuff I didn’t like

The whole Nia/ Shayna pairing: Ruby and Liv were RIGHT THERE, you idiot bookers. They have a story of strained friendship. How much more perfect could you get to square off against Sasha and Bayley. Shayna deserves a singles run with Asuka and Nia needs to do more training so she stops hurting people. 

Keith Lee debuting on Raw: New music sucks. Putting him in a shirt sucks. Setting him up to lose at Payback sucks. 

Hiromu losing the Junior Heavyweight Title: Sure, he’s had a great run but Ichimori, really? Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great wrestler but I thought whoever took down Hiromu would be a bigger star. (I absolutely love Shingo too, but it made more sense, him losing to Suzuki. Who the hell else was going to beat him?)

Britt Baker vs Big Swole: How the hell has AEW managed to screw this up? This was a super hot feud and somehow it just turned into nothing. A two minute match with a wrestler pretending she can’t wrestle and one participant who sits in a wheelchair even though she’s supposedly ok to fight at All Out? Ugh.

Jay White losing his first match back: This might have made a tiny bit of sense if the idea was to have Evil retain his titles so that there would be legit heat with him and Jay over who was the “real leader” of Bullet Club. But Jay lost on his first match and Evil lost too. So now, it’s like Taiji has the best claim to be the leader since he’s the one who has a title.

Toru Yano winning the KOPW tournament: First of all, it should have been Sanada. Sanada winning a tournament that was the brainchild of Okada? Still fuel in that feud. Look, I really like some of the NJ comedy stuff but Toru Yano gets on my last nerve. You had three aces to choose from and you gave it to the idiot. Way to devalue the whole tournament, New Japan.

Anyone else spent a lot of time watching wrestling recently? Anything you loved or that pissed you off? Agree or disagree with my choices? Come on, let me know!