#yes i know this is just another thing to add to my already overflowing plate

[thevoidstaredback]

So, I've been all but binge watching Miniminuteman on youtube, and Milo has single handedly reinvigorated my love for archeology and the ancient world. I've always loved mythology and the influences it has on modern and ancient peoples. (I've also wanted to start a YT channel for a while as (hopefully) another source of income) I'm a storyteller through and through, and I love - not necessarily teaching, but - telling people about what I love. So, I figured, with Milo's probably unintentional inspiration, what if I start a YT channel talking about modern and ancient mythologies?

Thoughts?

[guardianofrivendell]

The Way to a Hobbit’s Heart

Thorin Oakenshield x Bilbo Baggins (Bagginshield)

Requested: Yes and no! This piece is part of “The Hobbit Discord Server’s Holiday Gift Exchange 2020″ and is my gift to @misfit-with-a-pen​ 💖

Warnings: oh my goodness, all the fluff! I can’t! Also Sassy Bilbo because it’s still me who wrote this :) 

Summary: When Bilbo enjoys a nice afternoon walk in the Shire, he notices a smell... A rather foul smell, if he was honest. When he comes closer to his home, the smell seems to intensify. It couldn't come from his house now, could it? Because Thorin was home.... Alone. Oh dear!

A/N: This story couldn’t exist without the help of @xxbyimm​! She is such an amazing and fantastic person and always ready to listen to me rant about ideas, complaining about everything and gave me TONS of advice on top of that. How wonderful is that?

Bilbo always favored late afternoon walks over morning strolls.

Though he knew most of his neighbors wouldn’t agree with him and probably would think of him as even more peculiar than they already did if they knew, he just couldn’t help himself. 

You see, it was the way the sun hung low in the sky, giving everything it shone upon a warm golden glow. Furthermore, as most of the hobbit community was too occupied prepping the most important meals of the day, the town was practically deserted.

This meant Bilbo could enjoy the beautiful sceneries in peace without having to get involved in friendly banter and polite greetings. And finally - the temperature was nor too warm or too cold, which was just perfect. 

But there was nothing better than an afternoon walk in early spring. Birds were building their nest, flying past his head with twigs in their little beaks. 

It reminded him of that one time a thrush had landed on Lobelia’s straw hat and had absolutely wrecked the damn thing. It took her a while to notice and Bilbo had had the greatest difficulty in keeping a straight face. She went running through the Shire afterwards, screaming about a vicious bird attack. Since that day he couldn’t help but snicker every time he saw a thrush.

Yes, Bilbo loved his walks indeed. But he loved his home just as much.

It wouldn’t be long before any respectable Hobbit started working in their garden again after the winter break and every yard and patio would get overflowed with a soft and subtly sweet flowery scent. It wasn’t any different in his garden. 

The flower buds of the early bloomers were starting to show, some of them already in their lovely, bright colours. Just a few more days and he could bury his nose in the daffodils, tulips or primroses, taking in their flowery scent.  It was a moment Bilbo looked forward to every single year, but now he could finally share it with his husband Thorin. 

To everyone’s surprise, this grumpy dwarf had warmed up to the art of gardening. Under Bilbo’s patient supervision, they were able to turn their neglected patch of land into the beautiful garden it was today.  

Bilbo smiled to himself at the thought of his husband. He came a long way to get here... Both of them did. Literally and figuratively. 

Thorin had been under a lot of stress for a long time without barely any chance to breathe: the rebuilding of Erebor, restoring trade agreements, bringing his people back to the mountain, … It never stopped and he was close to getting a burn-out.

Bilbo had seen it coming from miles away and had raised the alarm on Thorin’s health. Bilbo’s home in the Shire proved to be the perfect place to get a much needed break from ruling a Kingdom.  

The mountain was in good hands with Fíli and Kíli as his advisor - Balin was still there to keep an eye on them - and the peace and quiet of the Shire was wearing off on Thorin. He was finally able to relax and enjoy the time with Bilbo.Even so, they couldn’t stay away forever and they’d made plans to return to the mountain before the annual Durin’s Day celebration.  

That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the time that was still left.

Bilbo continued his way on the path that would eventually lead him back to his home, he stopped when he smelled something odd. He sniffed a few times, tilting his head sideways. What in the…?  

Bilbo couldn’t tell what the smell reminded him of, and yet it somehow seemed familiar. Was Lobelia trying to burn down her house again with another attempt at copying his famous rabbit stew? 

The closer he got to his home, the stronger the scent became. It couldn’t come from his house now, could it? Thorin was home so nothing serious could have happened.

Bilbo’s eyes widened.  

Thorin was home… alone.  

“Oh dear,” he murmured.

Thorin was not yet entirely used to living like a hobbit, still adjusting to life in the Shire. The more delicate, joie-de-vivre way of life that suited the hobbits didn’t always go well with the sturdy, rather head-on approach and maybe a tad brute way of the Dwarrows. He definitely wasn’t the domestic type. Yet.

Bilbo hurried up the lane to his front yard, struggled to open the gate in his haste and made his way inside. When the door closed behind him, it felt like someone had slapped him in the face.

Oh yeah, the smell definitely came out of his house. He coughed a few times, and his eyes started to water. He completely missed the leftover trails of smoke near the ceiling, and that was maybe for the better. 

“Thorin?” he squeaked between coughs. “Love?”

No answer. Was he even here? And what was that pungent smell? It almost smelled like an onion died a painful death and was left to rot! But with added spices. Now he almost wished it was Lobelia’s cooking instead... 

He left the entrance hall and stepped further into their home, making his way to the study. If Thorin was home, he would probably be there. Bilbo hoped to find his other half hunched over a book, or too focused on writing a letter to his nephews to hear his calls. Not that he didn’t trust Thorin to find his way back home on his own… okay fine, maybe he didn’t.  

Before he reached the study, his eye fell on the pantry. A rare curse escaped his mouth.

Empty jars, most of them tipped over, crumbs and pieces of vegetables on the ground together with a puddle of liquid that Bilbo wasn’t too keen on investigating further. 

He stood frozen in the round doorway. What had happened? 

Flashbacks of that one fateful night when the company had barged in - uninvited might he add - and raided his kitchen and pantry flooded his mind.

Could they...?

No, he shook his head. It was too quiet for the company to be here. Plus Thorin would have mentioned it. There were no secrets between them. Not anymore.  

He crossed the hallway and entered his kitchen. Or rather, what was left of it.

If he thought his pantry was raided, it was nothing in comparison to his kitchen. There were dirty pots and pans all over the place, as if the dishes hadn’t been done in weeks. Most of the cabinets were opened, the contents of the shelves in disarray or scattered over the counter. A lot of food made it to the floor as well, and it seemed like someone had tried to clean it up by shoving it to one side of the kitchen.  

It looked like Thorin had tried to make something for dinner. Or a snack maybe? At least, he hoped it was Thorin who wrecked the kitchen. Because there wasn’t a single hair on his feet that would even consider cleaning this up himself! 

“Thorin, I really do love you but you got to learn to clean up after yourself,” Bilbo muttered in frustration when he picked up a dirty kitchen rag from the floor. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” a low voice sounded behind him.  

Bilbo swirled around and he forgot to breathe for a second.

There, in the doorway of the dining room, stood Thorin in just his dark blue tunic and black breeches, barefoot and an apron tied around his hips. A towel carelessly thrown over his shoulder and a casserole in his hands made it look like he belonged in a kitchen. But Bilbo knew better. 

The dwarf himself looked like a complete snack. If it wasn’t for the state of the kitchen and the foul smell still filling his nostrils, he would’ve jumped him without a second thought.

No, scratch the snack! His husband was a full five course meal. Bilbo took a deep breath. And by Durin’s beard, was he hungry... 

Thorin lifted the pot a little. Bilbo stepped out of the way so he could pass.

“It just needs a little more time on the fire.”

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. 

That became abundantly clear when Thorin lifted the lid so he could stir in what looked like stew, and Bilbo had to grab the counter to steady himself.

Oh, well, at least now I know where that smell comes from, he thought. Breathe through your mouth, that’s the key! 

“You know, if you didn’t like my cooking, you could’ve just told me,” Bilbo joked while he took the pot off the fire again in an effort to save what could be saved, but not before he put the lid back on. “I think this is done, love.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin chuckled. The sound reverberated in his chest and it made Bilbo’s stomach flip. It was one of his favourite sounds and it still did something to him every time he heard it. 

“I wanted to repay you for taking such good care of me,” he said. “So I made us dinner.”

“You did?” Bilbo asked, endeared by the gesture but honestly, also a little afraid for his life by now. “Marvellous!”

“Go and take a seat at the table, I’ll be right there,” Thorin hummed and he gestured towards the dining room.  

Thorin came out of the kitchen and placed the pot in the middle of the table and wiped his hands on the apron. His eyes fell on Bilbo who still stood a bit to the side.  

When he entered the dining room Bilbo froze, stunned by what he saw. 

Thorin had set the table beautifully and had paid extra attention to details, the way Bilbo liked. Freshly picked flowers from their garden stood proudly in a white porcelain vase, napkins neatly folded on the right side of the plate and he had used Bilbo’s mother’s pottery. He really went out of his way for this. 

“Is it not to your liking?” Thorin asked, a slight tremble in his voice. “If it’s about the mess in the kitchen, I promise I’ll clean it up later.”

He was nervous, Bilbo realised when he looked at Thorin. The King under the Mountain who could face multiple armies with only twelve companions without a second thought or hint of fear was almost shaking with nerves because he had made dinner for his lover. It was adorable.  

“It’s lovely, Thorin. Really, it is,” he assured him, while Thorin pulled a chair from under the table so Bilbo could sit down. “I didn’t expect it, that’s all.” 

Thorin quickly made his way to the other side of the table and filled the mugs with ale and the glasses with wine. Bilbo however, eyed the food on the table cautiously. 

To be fair, from a distance it looked decent. There were carrots, mashed potatoes, other vegetables that he couldn’t quite name at first sight but seemed okay, bread,… And the pot of stew. On the corner of the table stood a bowl of what he suspected was some kind of gravy, but the chunks in it made him doubtful. 

He took some of everything on his plate and tried to keep it together when the aroma of the stew filled his nostrils once more.

Thorin looked at him expectantly. 

The things one does for the one they love, Bilbo thought while he took a deep breath and tried the stew. Oh dear, it tasted exactly like it smelled!

He tried to swallow it as fast as he could without a lot of chewing. His hand flew to his glass of wine and with a large gulp of the red substance his food finally went down.  

“Is there something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s… well, it’s a little hot,” he explained. That wasn’t exactly a lie. 

He tried to find the correct words to let him know cooking maybe wasn’t his strong point, but decided to change the subject instead. “Have you heard from Fíli yet?”

Thorin shook his head.  “I did not. It hasn’t been that long since I sent my last letter. Give him some time.”

He took a sip from his glass of wine. “But tell me about your afternoon, did you enjoy your walk?” 

Bilbo was relieved he could talk for a while - and avoid taking another bite - and told Thorin about his walk and how he was planning on asking old master Worrywort what he did to his wood poppies to get them so big and bright.

While he was listening intently, Thorin took a first bite of his homemade stew.

The minute he closed his mouth, his eyes widened and he almost choked on the meat. He let his fork drop on the plate with a loud clatter, a fist against his lips while he tried really hard to swallow the food.

Bilbo didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. He decided on a neutral expression, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a person to choke on a spoonful of stew.  

Thorin brought the napkin to his mouth and wiped the tears out of his eyes, still panting from the effort.

“Mahal, why didn’t you say anything?” he groaned.

Bilbo eyed him carefully, not wanting to hurt Thorin’s feelings. He worked so hard to prepare all this, well, you couldn’t exactly call it food…

“About what?” he tried, gathering his courage and taking another spoonful. 

“The food! I saw you eat it!” Thorin murmured, his face distorting in absolute horror as he watched his husband trying his best to process another bite.

“Please don’t. I can’t believe you want to take another bite!” 

“You made this for me, of course I’m going to eat it,” Bilbo said, smiling at him. Please don’t make me eat it again, Bilbo pleaded internally. 

“To be honest, I don’t even think Bombur would touch this,” Bilbo added.

“That bad, huh?” he laughed. “Who am I kidding, of course it is, I tasted it. I still taste it!”

He took his mug of ale and chugged it down in one go. When he placed it on the table again with a thud, his expression had changed into defeat.

“I know you love your meals and this isn’t…” he rose from his chair. “This is not a meal worthy of any hobbit, let alone Bilbo Baggins.”

With the majesty only a true dwarven king can muster, Thorin strode from the dining room towards the kitchen. Bilbo shuffled in his seat, pondering what had happened before hurrying behind his One.

The sight that greeted him made his heart clench. Thorin had started cleaning up the mess, his back to the door, head low and shoulders slumped. Bilbo could see he was distraught and clearly wounded in his pride. 

In a few strides Bilbo stood behind his husband and threw his arms around him, giving a little squeeze.

”Don’t you ever think what you do isn’t enough. The fact that you went through all this trouble for me, means more to me than you’ll ever know,” Bilbo mumbled into Thorin’s neck before he placed a featherlight kiss there, which elicited a groan out of the King’s chest.

Thorin turned around and wanted to return the favor, but Bilbo stopped him. 

“No, no, no, Thorin. First we need to clean up this mess. I’ll help you.”

After an hour of cleaning, they sat on a spotless kitchen floor, looking over their work proudly.

“We make a great team, you and me,” Thorin said.

Bilbo rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“Can you promise me one thing though?”

“What’s that?” Thorin wondered.

“Please leave the cooking to me?”

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​ @kumqu4t​ @myrin1234​ @dark-angel-is-back​ @the-fandoms-georgie​ @lathalea​ @xxbyimm​ @sokkasdarling​ @katethewriter​

[plainbrunettelbl]

ABO (A) Togata Mirio & (A) Midoriya Izuku x (O) Reader Broken Bones and Notebooks

Word count: 3417

Warnings: None. 

ABO (A) Togata Mirio & (A) Midoriya Izuku x (O) Reader Broken Bones and Notebooks

Summary: Mirio finds himself in a hospital. Both Izuku and him start falling for the Omega doctor that takes care of him.

(Full credit to the gifs owner) 

🌻🥦-Izuku had gotten a call while at his agency that his mate was at the hospital. He dropped everything he was doing and rushed over. How did this happen? His mate’s quirk was built to evade attacks so why was his Alpha laying in a hospital bed sporting multiple casts and bandages? 

🌻🥦-His mate was still waiting for a private room to clear up so he was put in the ER. Izu wasted no time tearing open his mate’s curtain and rushing to his side. 

🌻🥦-“Mirio! What happened?” He cried, trying to give his mate a comforting hug without injuring him any further. 

🌻🥦-“It’s nothing, Zuku. I just got a little beat up is all.” The blond tried to smile despite how much pain his body was in. 

🌻🥦-At that moment the curtain pulled back once again. You walked in with a tray of food, wearing a white coat. A happy smile on your face present. You set the tray down on the removable table and put your hands on your hips. 

🌻🥦-“Hello, I’m Dr.L/N, I will be the one taking care of you until you are fit to go back home. I assume you are his mate?” You asked, turning towards the slightly distressed, green-haired Alpha. 

🌻🥦-Izuku blinked back his teary eyes and nodded. 

🌻🥦-“Yes, I’m his mate. Can you tell me how long he will be staying here? Are his injuries really severe?” Izuku frantically asked, worried how long he would have to be away from his mate at night. The thought of going home to a cold bed was already unsettling to him.

🌻🥦-“It seems he has three cracked ribs, a broken leg, a broken arm along with a few fingers. He suffered a blow to the head but his scans came back normal so we are not too worried about that.” You informed, looking at his chart that you plucked from the end of his bed. 

🌻🥦-“Usually he would have to stay here for a few months in order to fully recover but since I am taking over you should be out within three weeks or so.” You hummed, eyeing his X-rays. 

🌻🥦-Mirio beamed at his mate from behind all of his bandages. “See babe! I will be out here in no time.” 

🌻🥦-Izuku leaned down to kiss his mates bruised cheek before turning back to you with a curious look. 

🌻🥦-“How come he is going to recover faster than normal?” He questioned, smoothing a hand down his mate’s encased shoulder. 

🌻🥦-“My quirk of course! I am only assigned to pro-heroes most of the time. Since your mate fits the bill, I am here to help him have a speedy recovery.” You beamed moving the tray of food on the mobile table closer to the pair. 

🌻🥦-“My quirk is unique. It allows me to heal a person by feeding them the food I make. It takes a little time since the food has to digest and distribute my healing nutrients all around your body. Since you have so many injuries it will take a while but you will get there.” You revealed a small bowl of chicken broth. 

🌻🥦-You had made it yourself this morning. Your quirk wouldn’t work if you didn’t make the food within twenty-four hours. So freezing your meals and giving them out to patients wouldn’t work. 

🌻🥦-You were assigned to pro heroes because of this. The higher-ups thought it would be best to focus all your efforts on recovering pro heroes rather than handling multiple civilian patients. 

🌻🥦-“This is it? Just chicken broth?” Mirio slightly whined, his Alpha pouting at the lack of meat. 

🌻🥦-“If you can keep this chicken broth down till tomorrow evening I will see what I can do about getting you some real food for dinner.” You grinned, trying not to snicker at his pouting face. 

🌻🥦-These men might be pro heroes and Alpha’s but despite their intimidating status you Omega didn’t mind their presence at all. It was like she was standing around with an old pair of friends. 

🌻🥦-Maybe it was their calming scents. The blond had a warm scent that reminded you of sun rays reflecting off the ocean. The green-haired Alpha gave off a scent of wet soil and sweet sage. 

🌻🥦-“Thank you so much, Doctor. I’ll be sure to watch him so he doesn’t gulp it down in one swallow. His stomach is an endless pit.” The freckled Alpha lovingly looked down at his battered mate. 

🌻🥦-His Alpha felt a little calmer than when he walked in for some reason but he just assumed it was because he knew his mate was in good hands. It had nothing to do with the sweet scent of fresh bread and ripe fruit coming from the smiling doctor. 

🌻🥦-He brushed it off. His Alpha was just happy his ray of sunshine was okay. 

***

🌻🥦-A few days had passed and Mirio was already looking a little better. The first thing your quirk healed was his head. He was even more bright and smiley now that his headaches were gone. 

🌻🥦-He had proven that he could hold down liquids so he was approved for solid foods. You were sure his Alpha was very excited about the news. 

🌻🥦-You knocked before walking into his room, he had been upgraded to a private room and moved out of the ER. Izuku was sat at his mate’s side writing away in his notebook. You walked in with two trays and a happy smile. 

🌻🥦-“Hello, good morning!” You hummed, setting down the two trays on in front of Miro and Izuku. 

🌻🥦-“Hey, Y/N!” Mirio beamed, sending you a dazzling smile. 

🌻🥦-“Morning, Y/N,” Izuku replied softly not quite looking you in the eye, still not used to talking to females even though he has been a pro hero for years now. 

🌻🥦-“I brought you some pancakes and bacon. There is enough for you too Izuku.” You hummed revealing two plates to feed the Alphas. The tray was nearly overflowing with food but Alphas had big appetites so you knew they would clean the plates no problem. 

🌻🥦-“O-oh you don’t have to do that Y/N. I am sure another patient needs it more than I do.” He blushed, refusing the food. 

🌻🥦-“Nonsense. I know that the new mission you went on took a lot out of you. Plus I have seen you favoring your right hand. I hope you didn’t strain it too much.” You said, giving him a knowing look. 

🌻🥦-He flushed and pulled the food closer to him without further complaint. 

🌻🥦-“How did you get him to do that Y/N? Usually, I have to force him to rest and recover after a mission.” Mirio said, amazed you got his Alpha to comply so easily. 

🌻🥦-“An Omega secret.” You winked, smiling at the two before leaving. 

🌻🥦-Both Alpha’s left in a daze while they ate their breakfast. 

***

🌻🥦-“Come on! We have been looking for an Omega even before the accident. We want an Omega to complete us and she could be the one. Why not ask her out and see how it goes?” Mirio asked, his blue eyes shifting around trying to meet his lover’s emerald eyes. 

🌻🥦-“She is just nice to us because it’s her job. We have no reason to believe she will actually be interested in us once you are out of the hospital.” Izuku let out a small huff, his Alpha was telling him to pursue the Omega doctor but his self-doubt and nervousness were taking over.   

🌻🥦-Izuku’s eyes shifted all over his notebooks page, trying to distract himself from the conversation and the warm flush creeping up his face. 

🌻🥦-“We don’t know until we try. We don’t have to ask her now but just think about it, will you? This near-death experience really made me realize that I want to pursue everything my heart desires. I want to come home to my Alpha and my Omega. Maybe a few pups as well.” Mirio grinned, picturing the sweet scene in his head. 

🌻🥦-His Alpha was already bouncing with joy at the idea. He was already picturing your eyes looking up at him after a long day. 

🌻🥦-They had been on a few courting dates in search of a third partner but they all had ended with neither Alpha satisfied. His Alpha was telling him you were their missing piece. 

🌻🥦-“I’ll think about it, Alpha. We shouldn’t rush things though. You still need to recover. No Omega is gonna want to go on courting dates with us if I have to wheel you in.” Izuku laughed, picturing him rolling in his mate, at a coffee shop, sporting two casts.  

🌻🥦-“Really? I think it will add to my charm. No one can reject these baby blues when I am weak and injured.” He pouted his lips and widened his eyes at his lover. 

🌻🥦-Izuku giggled before leaning over and pecking a kiss on his lips.

🌻🥦-“I guess I can agree with that.” 

***

🌻🥦-“I brought lunch! It has plenty of meat so your Alpha will be quite pleased.” You grinned, opening up the door, Mirio was propped up on the bed. 

🌻🥦-You smiled at the blonde before noticing the greenette was absent. 

🌻🥦-“Where is Izuku? It’s odd not seeing him by your side.” You asked, setting up the tray in front of him. 

🌻🥦-“He had to go to the office for a while. He has been putting off a few things to stay with me so now he has to go in for a bit and catch up.” He said, sending you a big smile, the tinge of sadness was lurking in his eyes. 

🌻🥦-You couldn’t have your best patient getting sad on you. 

🌻🥦-“What do you call a pig that does karate?” You asked, lifting the top of the tray. 

🌻🥦-“What?” He lifted a blond eyebrow. 

🌻🥦-“A pork chop.” You replied, cutting your hand through the air. 

🌻🥦-You were glad your quirk had healed up his ribs or the belt of laughter really would have done a number on him. His loud chuckles was a welcomed sound, the slight sparkle in his eyes even more. 

🌻🥦-“I didn’t know my doctor was also a comedian.” He breathed, clutching his chest with his uninjured arm. 

🌻🥦-“I am many things.” You winked, pushing his plate towards him and setting in the chair by his bed, where Izuku usually sits. 

🌻🥦-“You are staying?” His blond brow went up again, his good hand already picking up a fork. 

🌻🥦-“I have to make sure you don’t eat your whole meal in two bites. I remember your mate saying something about your bottomless stomach. I can’t have my patient choking on me now.” You laughed, pulling out a small notebook from your white coat. 

🌻🥦-You would work on tweaking and editing some of your recipes. 

🌻🥦-Mirio’s Alpha was already purring upon hearing you were gonna stay and keep him company. His human half was delighted as well. 

***

🌻🥦-He had finished his lunch and his mate was still not back. His Alpha was pouting at his other half being gone but something else was bothering him too. It had been a few days since Izuku had given him a good scrub down and his dirty hair was starting to bother him. 

🌻🥦-He was known to take multiple showers a day when he was well. Now that he was injured and couldn’t exactly take as many baths as he pleased he was feeling off. 

🌻🥦-“Y/N could you wash my hair? I can wait until Izuku got here if you feel uncomfortable doing it.” He said, look at the Omega sitting by his bed. 

🌻🥦-“Mirio, I’m a Doctor, washing someone’s hair is the least uncomfortable thing I can do to a patient. Would Izuku be comfortable with it though? I know how territorial Alpha pairs can get.” You questioned, tilting your head. 

🌻🥦-“I am sure he would understand. You don’t have to worry about him going all Alpha on you. We wouldn’t have been going on courting dates to find our third partner if either one of us was easily jealous.” He smiled, strategically letting you know they were poly. 

🌻🥦-For some reason, your Omega purred happily at the news. You shoved her aside and professionally nodded your head and smiled. 

🌻🥦-“Well, that is good to hear. Would you like to do it here or in the bathroom?” You asked, taking off your white coat, you didn’t want to get it wet. 

🌻🥦-“The bathroom. I would like to keep my bed dry.” He grinned, reaching to grab his crutches leaning up against the bed. 

🌻🥦-He had his head in the sink while you intertwined your fingers in his hair and massaged the shampoo in. You took note of is soft hair the moment your fingers threaded through it. 

🌻🥦-You Omega was already sighing in bliss at the texture. Omega’s loved soft and silky things. 

🌻🥦-It seems you weren’t the only one enjoying the feeling. The poor Alpha was putty in your hands. If the chair he was sitting in disappeared he would slump to the ground. 

🌻🥦-You had a soft spot for the Alpha so you continued to massage his head even though the shampoo was already worked in well enough. Izuku walked in while you were doing so, he paused at the bathroom door. 

🌻🥦-Mirio had told you his mate would be fine with it but that didn’t stop your Omega from letting out a tiny chirp. Izuku had been nothing but nice to you. You were a bit embarrassed at your reaction but you knew of about Alphas and their aggressiveness when it came to someone interfering with their bond.  

🌻🥦-During your residency, you had treated a few cases of the unlucky ones caught flirting with a person’s Alpha. 

🌻🥦-Mirio had immediately opened his eyes at the sound. He sat up fast and seemed ready to fight off whoever it was that made you chirp. You didn’t know how he was gonna do that with two casts but it made your Omega swoon. 

🌻🥦-Once he saw it was just his mate he released his breath. 

🌻🥦-Izuku widens his eyes in surprise and put his hands up to show you he meant no harm. 

🌻🥦-“Y-you’re fine! I’m not mad! I know it is your job.” He rapidly said, taking a step back. 

🌻🥦-“You sure do know how to make an entrance, Zuku.” Mirio laughed, leaning his head back in the sink bowl. 

🌻🥦-“I’m sorry, Izuku. I know you wouldn’t hurt me but I have seen way too many Alpha attacks with my occupation.” You nervously bit your lip. 

🌻🥦-He is a Hero and you chirped in fear at him! You felt a flush crawl up your cheeks. 

🌻🥦-“It’s fine, Y/N. I understand.” He reassured, clutching a familiar notebook in his hand. “I’ll just wait by the bed.” 

🌻🥦-You nodded before getting back to scrubbing Mirio’s soft hair. You rinse and conditioned his hair quickly. When you were done you wrapped a towel around his neck and lead him back to his bed. 

🌻🥦-Izuku looked up from writing and gave you a small smile. You flash him one back before taking the towel around his mate’s neck and began drying his hair.

🌻🥦-The Alpha was in a state of bliss again. Izuku would be lying if he said he wasn’t a tiny bit jealous. He wanted to feel your soft hands against his hair too.

🌻🥦-“What are you always writing in that notebook of yours Izuku?” You asked, talking your eyes off the blonde for a second and giving him a curious look. 

🌻🥦-“I have been asked to review a few students from UA and come up with way they could possibly improve their quirk. I am just going over the notes I made and writing down what I think could help them.” He said, lifting his notebook and showing you a sketch of a student’s quirk and small paragraphs going over their strengths and weakness. 

🌻🥦-You were done drying Mirio’s hair so you walked around the bed and peered at it over his shoulder. This student had an ice quirk and could only make the ice stay frozen for a limited amount of time. 

🌻🥦-Izuku had draw lumps of ice that the student was only able to manifest. They reminded you of huge hail balls. It said that the student was working on their arm strength to be able to throw them at opponents. 

🌻🥦-“Mmm. What if the student could shape their ice into a morning-star ball? It would be harder for a villain to ignore if icy needles were stuck in them rather than a chunk of ice bouncing off them.” You said, tapping your chin. 

🌻🥦-Izuku was star struck looking up at you. He was glad you were peering up at the ceiling in thought, not noticing the look of pure awe on his face. When he had gone out on dates with Mirio all the Omega’s seemed to only like him because of his hero status. 

🌻🥦-None of them cared all to much when he started rambling about certain heroes or making notes in the tiny notebook he carried around in his pocket. They certainly didn’t engage and offer any ideas to him. 

🌻🥦-They kinda just ignored him while he scribbled away and focused their attention on Mirio more. 

🌻🥦-He was completely bewitched. A quick flash of him and you cuddled on the couch going over his notes in his notebook while you offer advice every now and then. You asked him about what you could do to add to your meals to help improve them, also taking notes in a small notebook.

🌻🥦-“That is a great idea, Y/N. I’ll write that down. Thank you.” He blushed, quickly scribbling down your idea. 

🌻🥦-He might have been a little hesitant before but now his Alpha was howling at the idea of asking you out. He shot his mate a look and instantly knew his mate was already on board.

🌻🥦-Now they just had to find the right time to ask you out. 

***

🌻🥦-It was Mirio’s final day at the hospital. You were bringing him his discharge papers. You knocked on the familiar door and walked in. Your Omega was already whining at you. She didn’t want that Alpha’s to leave.

🌻🥦-But the Alpha was as good as new. He had gotten off his casts already and the only things left on his body were a few light bruises and scratches. 

🌻🥦-His mate stood by him, helping him put on a cornflower blue jacket. A black bag on the bed told you that he was already packed up and ready to go. They both turned to look at you when you walked in. 

🌻🥦-Mirio was sitting on the bed with his back facing the door so he had to strain his neck to look over. You could have sworn a sparkle was present in both of their eyes when they looked at you. 

🌻🥦-You didn’t want to jump to conclusions so you convinced yourself it was admiration for helping the blue-eyed Alpha get better. 

🌻🥦-“It seems our time has come to an end boys. I can say that besides the corny jokes, you were one of my best patients yet.” You grinned, thinking of all the cheesy jokes he told you. 

🌻🥦-He said he had to outdo your joke by making you laugh harder than he did. So far all he got out of you was a few snickers and chuckles. He made it his life’s mission to see you wheeze in laughter.

🌻🥦-“I don’t think so, Izuku and I were thinking, would you like to come out to dinner with us? We feel like it is time for us to feed you for a change.” He offered, his smile still on his face but you could see the slight nervousness on his face. 

🌻🥦-This offer was clearly more than a simple thanks. Poor Izuku was fidgeting where he stood, not looking you in the eye. 

🌻🥦-Your heart warmed at the two anxious Alphas. 

🌻����-“Sure. I would love to.” You agreed, your Omega yipping with joy. 

🌻🥦-You couldn’t wait to see how this turned out. 

This is my first time writing for this pair so feel free to tell me how you feel about them! Thank you for the support. Please reblog and leave a like. Both really help keep me motivated to write. 💛💚

[preciouspeterbparker]

i wish i were, part 2

link to part 1

summary: it’s tony’s 18th birthday

warnings: non-con voyeurism, underage masturbation, underage sex, step-sibling inc*st, angst, fluff (can you believe it???)

word count: 3.3k

feedback is always welcome and appreciated!

enjoy!!

-bloo 

The sharp sound of knuckles on a wooden door, accompanied by a sweet, loving voice he’s known his whole life. "Good morning, sweetheart." 

Peter rouses from his sleep, grumbling at the soft yet incessant knocking on his door. He blinks blearily in the direction of the voice before burying his face in the warm spot on his pillow. "'M up," he croaks, clutching the comforter closer to his chest. "Just...just four...mmm...four more minutes…"

"Peter," comes Mom's soft chuckle as she enters the room. Her slippered feet shuffle along the floor as she makes her way over to the bed. Her fingers card gently through Peter's slightly sweaty sleep-mussed curls. "You wanted me to wake you up a bit early this morning, remember?" Maria laughs again at the grumbling that leaves the teen's mouth in response. She leans down to press her lips to the side of his head in a kiss. “You wanted to help make Tony’s birthday breakfast,” she reminds him gently. 

“Yeah, I know,” Peter yawns, wriggling under the covers for a minute before pushing himself up into a sitting position. The comforter falls to his lap as he stretches, extending his arms in the air above his head and rolling his bare shoulders. “Did we decide what we were making? Chocolate chip waffles? Or blueberry?” 

“Well, I was thinking chocolate chip. But your father,” she says pointedly, as if Richard can hear her from where Peter knows he’s sitting in his armchair with a mug of coffee and staring blankly into space, “forgot to get them when he was at the store. So, how about we go a little crazy and use M&M’s, hmmm?” Her hands go out in front of her in a ‘ta-da’ motion, hazel eyes twinkling playfully. 

Snorting, the teenager climbs out of bed, adjusting the black joggers slung along his hips. He snags a random t-shirt from his dresser and pulls it down over his head. “Sounds good, Mama.” Peter gently bumps up against her affectionately as they leave his room, heading down the hallway and taking the stairs down to the kitchen. 

“Hey Dad,” Peter grins at his father, who is indeed zoned out in the living room and jumps a bit at the sound of his voice. Typical. 

Richard rolls his eyes at Peter’s giggling and sends him a smile. “Morning, Pete. Morning, honey,” he adds on when he sees Maria descending the stairs behind his son. He gets up to follow them into the kitchen, standing behind his wife and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And where’s our legal adult? Already out buying lottery tickets and cigarettes?” He gulps down a sip of his coffee and takes a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island. 

“Hush, Richie,” Maria chides, pulling her blonde hair up into a bun and grabbing her apron from its hook by the pantry. “You know Tony’s never up before ten on a Saturday, at least not of his own volition.” Reaching into the cabinet above the stove, she pulls down the flour and baking powder. “Punkin, can you get the eggs and vanilla, please?” 

The teen hums in assent, pulling the carton out of the fridge and sidestepping to the pantry where he narrows his eyes at the racks on the back of the door that are filled with bottles of different spices and seasonings. “I don’t see vanilla,” Peter mutters under his breath. There’s almond extract, peppermint extract, lemon... “Mom, I don’t- Oh, nevermind, found it,” he exclaims with a flourish, brandishing the small red and white box in the air. 

Warm conversation and the sounds of cooking fill the kitchen as Peter and Maria make breakfast, Richard chiming in from his perch at the island. Soon, there’s a large stack of rainbow-spotted waffles on a platter, laid out on the table with whipped cream, dishes of cut up cut up bananas and strawberries, and a bottle of chocolate syrup. 

Richard gets up to pull some plates out of a cabinet and brings them over to the dining room table along with four sets of silverware. “Peter, will you go wake up your brother? Bring him down so we can sing. And eat, these waffles look amazing.”

“Yeah, sure thing, Dad.”  Peter heads upstairs, passing his room and the bathroom before stopping in front of the door that’s across from his. “Tony?” He taps his knuckles on the wood a few times and waits until he hears Tony’s mumbled greeting. Smiling softly, he twists the knob and pushes the door open, leaning on the jamb as he does so. “Wake up, T,” he sing-songs, “it’s time for your birthday breakfast.” He curses the butterflies that have become active and hopes that he looks more casual and less obvious than he feels. 

Peter’s breath catches in his throat once the door is fully open and Tony’s in his line of vision. The now-eighteen year old is sitting up in his bed, lit up by the morning sun shining in through the window on the opposite wall, comforter pooled around his waist. His dark hair is rumpled and wild. Peter fleetingly wonders if that’s what it would look like if he were to run his fingers through it, if he were to pull at it while-

“Mmm, g’mornin Pete-squeak. I was getting ready to come down. Smells so good it woke me up.” Tony raises his arms above his head, stretching, and thrusts his hips up a bit as he curls his bare back. Heat blooms in Peter’s gut at the way his older brother’s muscles shift under his tanned skin, at the thatch of hair under his arms, and it intensifies when Tony’s legs shift as he changes his posture to an arch, dislodging the covers. 

Peter tries his best not to stare at the line of dark hair that goes from Tony’s belly button down into the front of his gray sweats. He’s- fuck, he can see the thickness of Tony’s cock pressed up against the fabric. Fuck, Tony's gotta be at least half hard… Or, God, is he that big soft?

He concludes that the latter must be the case, because Tony slides right out of the bed and shuffles towards him without an ounce of shame. His hand lands on the top of Peter's head, ruffling the already messy curls in his signature move. Peter wrinkles his nose, and almost ducks away from the touch before remembering to take what he can get when it comes to the feeling of his brother’s hands on his body.

"Let's go Pete-squeak, 'm starving." Tony lumbers through the door after grabbing a black t-shirt shirt off the floor and yanking it down over his head, and Peter follows dutifully behind him, the two making their way down the stairs. So what if his eyes are on Tony’s ass the whole way down.

Maria and Richard must have been listening for them, because it seems that the two immediately start singing from their places at the dining room table when they hear the boys reach the landing at the bottom of the stairs. 

Tony promptly rolls his eyes at their parents, but Peter feels himself go a little hot when he notices the pink tinge that spreads over his brother's cheeks. There's a shimmer in Tony's eyes and Peter thinks, not for the first time, that his brother is kind of sickeningly beautiful. He takes a seat across from Mom at the table, Dad to his right and an empty chair to his left. 

“Oh, Tony,” Maria coos once they've concluded their slightly off-pitch rendition of happy birthday, her own eyes shimmering with tears. She wipes them away with a sniffle. “My baby, I can’t believe you’re eighteen! Feels like just yesterday I was bringing you home, all eight and a half pounds of you!"

Tony makes eye contact with Peter before sitting down next to Mom and Peter, across from Dad. “Relax, Mama,” he chuckles, already reaching to stab three waffles with his fork and pile them onto his plate. Once he’s made his (nearly overflowing) plate, everyone else follows suit. “Thanks for making breakfast Mama, you too Pete. Thanks for...offering moral support while they cooked, Pop,” he grins at Richard, making Peter snort. 

“Got any big plans today, sweetheart?”

“Not really,” Tony says around a mouth full of waffle, chocolate, banana, and whipped cream. The groan he lets out is absolutely indecent- or maybe that’s just the way it sounds to Peter as he tries to inconspicuously shift in his seat. “Fuck, these are so good, Momma.” Tony’s eyes are closed, so he definitely doesn’t notice the way Peter’s pupils are blown, nor does he see the long-suffering side-eye he knows both parents are throwing at him for his language. 

 “Well,” Maria continues, taking a bite of her own waffle, “I’m sorry Dad and I are busy, but we’ll all go out for dinner tomorrow night, how’s that sound?” 

Richard nods in agreement, taking another sip of his coffee. “We can go to that Mexican place downtown you guys love so much.��

Tony bobs his head as he chews, reaching over to flick Peter’s ear. “No problemo, I was thinking maybe me and Pete-squeak can hang out today, anyway. And yes on dinner.”

Peter squawks around a mouth full of waffles, swinging his leg out to kick the brunette in the shin, ignoring Dad’s muttered “No violence at the table please, boys”. He screws his face up in mock indignation. “What makes you think I’m not busy today?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Are you?” The he says it and the twinkle in his eyes feel like a challenge but-

Taking another bite, Peter shakes his head. There’s no use trying to deny it when he purposefully kept his schedule clear for the day in hopes of spending it with Tony. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

*

Tony notices the way that Peter looks at him sometimes, he's not stupid. He just chooses not to acknowledge it. (Well, admittedly, first he noticed the way Peter was around Pepper. His little brother has never been particularly comfortable around people who weren’t family, but this is different. He’s noticed the way that Peter makes himself scarce whenever he invites his girlfriend over (which, to be honest, he usually appreciates because who wants their sibling around when they’re trying to make out with their partner??), or the way he goes quiet whenever she’s brought up in conversation.) If Tony doesn’t acknowledge it, then he doesn’t have to think about the way it makes him feel, the things it makes him think. 

And it works, for the most part. They spent the day binge-watching superhero movies on the couch, dozing off and on. Mom and Dad still weren’t home at dinner time, so Tony had suggested they make spaghetti, for no specific reason other than it’s the only thing he knows how to make. It was nice, jamming to 70s rock and singing along with Peter, talking about everything and nothing at all. They parked themselves back on the couch to eat dinner, choosing some random slapstick comedy on Netflix.

The movie’s over now and Peter just headed into the kitchen with their plates, claiming he had a surprise for Tony. The older teen leans back on the couch, stretching. He notices how dark it is; they’d turned the lights off once they finished eating in order to get rid of the glare on the TV. He debates getting up to turn on one of the lamps when he hears footsteps approaching. 

Peter comes out from the kitchen and walks towards the couch. He’s holding a cupcake in his hands, a red single red candle placed in the center of the blue frosting. There’s a square red-wrapped box tucked up under one of his arms. In the dim lighting that shines in from the kitchen, the small flame reflects in the depths of his brown eyes, face illuminated in the glow. “Happy birthday to you,” he sings softly, eyes trained on the cupcake rather than Tony himself. 

Tony’s suddenly struck with just how beautiful Peter is. He’s never really noticed it before (he has, but he’s been in denial for so long that he’s started to believe the lies he tells himself). His chestnut curls are strewn haphazardly on his head, and though he can’t quite make them out right now, Tony thinks of the freckles scattered over his cheeks and nose. 

“...Happy birthday, dear Tony, happy birthday to you,” Peter finishes, sitting down on the couch beside him. He holds the cupcake out towards his older brother. “Make a wish,” he smiles, shifting the present that’s fallen into his lap.

“Hmmm,” Tony breathes, carefully taking the cupcake into his own hands. “What to wish for,” he mutters playfully, smiling back at Peter. He thinks for a moment before closing his eyes. He blows the candle out without making a wish, but what Peter doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He sits the cupcake down on the coffee table before making grabby hands at the box Peter’s now holding in his hands. “What’s that, Petey?”

“It’s uh,” Peter starts, swallowing. “A camera?” It comes out sounding like a question. “I know you’re leaving soon, for college, and I just- For memories- I don’t want you to...forget me,” he finishes quietly. 

...Tony doesn’t know what to say to that yet he opens his mouth anyway. But before he can get the words out, Peter seems to catch himself and brightens up. 

“And I want you to take pictures of everything at MIT so you can show me when you come back to visit- I’ve never been away from home before, I want to see what it’s like, what kind of fun stuff you get to do. Get some ideas for when I leave, next year.”

Tony tries not to let his feelings show on his face, choosing to let Peter’s first comment go. He gently takes the box from his brother’s hands and unwraps it, pulling out the polaroid camera. “This is so cool,” he grins. “Thanks so much, Peter.” Bumping their shoulders together, he starts to fiddle with the settings. “Help me get it set up so we can take some pics.”

Peter’s grin lights up the room.

***

Peter knew it was too good to be true, that something wasn’t adding up. He didn’t get good things like this. He didn’t get to be happy like he was today. And he had been so happy, happier than he’s felt in months. 

He had deluded himself into thinking that Tony choosing to spend the day with him meant something special...now Peter knows better. He knows that he was just something to pass the time until Tony got to see who he really wanted to spend his big day with. He’d been caught off guard but honestly not surprised when the doorbell rang this evening, followed by Tony’s footsteps rushing down the hall and down the stairs, and he’d quietly closed his door at the sound of Tony’s breathy, excited, “Hey, Pep. Come on in, baby. Nobody’s home, just Peter.”

Just Peter. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s all he would ever be, just Peter. 

Now Peter’s laying in bed, facing the wall that his room shares with Tony’s. His eyes are red and sore from crying, and his lips taste like salt from the snot and tears. There’s a pile of cold, wet crumpled up tissues touching his elbow, tucked up close to his body. He’s bothered by the sensation but not enough to do something about it. He doesn’t have the energy.

Blinking slowly and wincing, Peter unlocks his phone and squints at the bright light in the darkness of the bedroom. 10:47pm. He was crying longer than he thought, almost two hours. No wonder he feels so worn out. He can no longer hear the sounds of whatever movie Tony and Pepper were watching downstairs. He briefly wonders if she went home-

But then two pairs of footsteps are making their way down the hall, and one keeps going towards what he presumes is Tony’s room while the other stops briefly in front of his door. Peter quickly fumbles with his phone to lock it and make the screen go dark, jerkily pulling the covers up over himself to hide his body, leaving only the top of his head exposed on the pillows as he feigns sleep. He just barely makes it before his door creaks open slowly. 

“Pete? You up?” Tony’s voice is a whisper, and Peter desperately tries to control his breathing despite the way his heart is racing unsteadily in his chest. His performance must be convincing because a moment later his door closes softly and he can hear Tony’s footsteps leaving and then the sound of another door shutting. 

"Fuck." It's Tony's voice that Peter hears first. “Been missing you all day, Pep. Kept wishing you were here.” Though muffled, the words are pretty easy for him to make out; they must be on Tony’s bed. (For the first time, Peter wishes that their beds weren’t sharing a wall. He regrets rearranging his room last summer. The sounds he’s heard over the past months no longer seem worth it. He doesn’t want to hear this, whatever it is.) 

A feminine chuckle is what he hears next. “I just wanted you to be able to celebrate with your family. We’ll have plenty of time together in Boston.” Oh yeah. Pepper’s going to Boston too, attending Harvard rather than the engineering school. Peter tries really hard not to think about it, the amount of time they’re going to have alone together. “You’re leaving soon, and I know they’re going to miss you, especially Peter. He thinks you hung the moon, babe, it’s so cute.”

Peter tenses, and if he had hackles they’d definitely be up right now. He feels angry and attacked and seen in a way that makes him want to claw the skin off his body. His fists clench, nails digging into his palms and leaving crescent-shaped indentations in the flesh. 

“...Know what else is cute? You.” He can almost imagine Tony’s saying the words to him, instead. 

It’s quiet for a few moments and he foolishly thinks maybe they’ve gone to bed but then he hears the faint yet distinct sound of wet kisses, accompanied by choked off moans and whimpers. It feels like he’s gotten ice water dumped over him. He picks up on the quiet creaking of the mattress. 

Pepper, high pitched and breathy, trying to keep her voice down. "Tony, yes, yes, right there." More whining and groaning, then-

Then Tony. "Yeah, honey? Like the way I fuck so deep in your pussy? Can you feel me all the way back there?" Peter can’t help but get hard at the sound of Tony’s voice saying the words, even though his heart feels like a stone in his chest. He feels like he’s lost feeling in most of his body, only registering the throbbing in his groin and the tightness in his ribcage. He distantly thinks that he must be dissociating but, maybe not because he’s aware, he- "Love how you're so wet on my cock- so tight, baby, fuck."  

Peter shudders as he spits into his palm and shifts on the bed to turn onto his side. One hand snakes its way under the covers and into his boxers where his cock is rapidly filling out. He strokes himself to the quickening rhythm of the creaking and closes his eyes, trying not to picture what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It doesn’t work, but he doesn’t wipe away the tears that start to spill out from his eyelids. He’s close already, he’s so pathetic-

“Oh, fuck, Tony, please, gimme-”

“Mmmm, yeah baby- God, shit, I’m gonna cum, gonna fill you up- Fuuuck, fuck-” 

With a sob, he cums into his fist at the sound of his brother’s release, burying his face into the pillow to muffle his cries. Peter takes a shaky breath and shakes his head against the fabric to wipe the tears away as the sobs intensify, wracking his body. He's gasping for air that will never come.  

It’ll never be better than this.

[kaorukeehl]

Smut story. So adults.

I tried posting this with the audio but the audio is marked so it won't show up.

The audio had inspired this story. It's an audio where Red records an audio with Blue sucking him off to help. Then Red ends up fucking his face.

This story is events of what could have happened after this had happened.

Back for more.

It wasn't long after Blue, Underswap Sans, had left the recording studio. He had managed to make it home fairly quickly. He flops down onto his bed; glad that his brother is probably at Muffets. He glances around the room in an attempt to distract himself. His magic humming from excitement and glowing softly. He shifts rubbing his legs together as a strange feeling develops down there. He finds the feeling to be something he's never experience before. He has a pretty good idea at what it could possibly be though.

It's been bugging him since what happened back at the recording studio.

The memory of Red, Underfell Sans, taking control to ravage his mouth sent a shiver down his spine.

Blue groans as his magic in his pelvis seems to react to the shiver. He covers his eyes not daring to think about the magic down there. He tries thinking about his brother shirtless... Though it only ends up being pushed aside by Red. He tries thinking about puzzles he could do... He thinks of one with a spike plate for the other to walk across avoiding the spikes...Only the spikes on a spike plate reminds him of Reds teeth. He sits up, throwing his arm to the side, with a frustrated noise. His magic forms and demands attention. "It's useless isn't it?" He wonders out loud to himself. He uncovers his eyes and glances down to where his magic has formed. "I... I want to record with him again." He finally admits feeling like part of the weight on him has been lifted. He reaches down and gently pets his magic through his pants. He groans closing his eyes letting the images come to him.

Red pounding into his mouth as he takes control. How he manhandled him after being unable to hold back any longer. His fingertips lightly scraping against his skull.

Blues hand moves to slip under his pants. He strokes his magic directly as thoughts on Red keep swirling in his head.

Then imagination kicks in.

As Blues fingers start to tease the entrance he had created, his mind made up fantasies.

Imaginary Red was leaning over Blue. He is the one with his hand down Blues pants touching him. He leans over and whispers against the side of Blues skull. "You want this? You want my fingers in you?" He teases causing Blue to groan and arch into the touches.

"Yes! I want you to touch me all over!" Blue responds to the imaginary Red in a pleading tone.

"Hehehehe." Imaginary Red chuckles at this pulling back to give Blue a big sharp toothed grin. "You're a naughty boy. Aren't you? Well I guess I can give you more."

As Blue slips two fingers inside of himself he can imagine Reds fingers instead. He arches his back closing his eyes as he moans. "Oh! Yes! Red!"

"That's right." Imaginary Red purrs softly. "You love this."

Blue begins spreading his fingers still imagining Red doing it instead. His eyes shut with his blue magic tongue hanging out. He feels his face warm up with a magical blush.

"You're so cute. Blushing for me like that." Imaginary Red tells Blue as he continues to stretch out the others entrance. "I know how badly you want my cock inside of you."

Blue suddenly hits a sweet spot inside of himself. He moans louder and trembles a little from the pleasure.

"Yes. That's it." Imaginary Red strokes that sweet spot that was found. "I'm going to make you mine."

"Please." Blue pants shifting his hips from the pleasure of touching that spot. "Please make me yours Red." He pleads and he can clearly imagine the red cock Red has; seeing as how he had sucked him off for the sake of helping with an audio recording.

"That's what I like to hear Blue." Imaginary Red kisses Blues cheek as the other groans. He adds another finger as soon as Blue adds another. "You're taking this so well sweetheart. You make me wanna go all night with you."

"Red." Blue whines feeling like he's getting close as his hips shake even more.

Imaginary Red chuckles and presses his body against Blues own. "Oh? You're going to cum already? I haven't even put it in yet sweetheart." He seems to enjoy the sound Blue makes as he brushes against the sweet spot. "I suppose I shouldn't keep you waiting." He lines his cock up.

Blue snaps back to reality just as he cums on his own fingers. He pulls his fingers away from his pussy and he lays there panting. He tries to catch his breath as he stays laying there. He sits up and realizes that he had made a mess that makes him sigh. He should probably clean up before his brother gets home. He gets up and cleans up only for his phone to buzz. He checks it and finds a message from Red. His soul pounds in his rib cage as he wonders if Red is feeling the same longing he is. He quickly opens the message to see.

Hey. I'm not sure if I said this. But thanks for helping me out. The audio is a huge hit. The biggest hit I've had with these things. It's too bad you don't want to come back to help me again.

As soon as he reads that Blue drops his phone and takes off. He hurries back to where Red is and skids to a stop right outside the others home. He isn't quite sure how to even approach this.

Especially after telling Red he wouldn't do something like that again.

Blue slightly glances down as he tries to make an official decision on what to do. He looks up and takes a heavy breath. He heads up to the door briefly hesitating before knocking. He takes two steps back as he waits. His hands twisting around each other in his nervousness. He's never went to seek out someone he desires before. He's never had feelings of longing like this before either. He tries to think of something, anything, to say when the door is opened... Too late.... He nearly jumps when the door swings open revealing Red.

Their eyes meet just a moment before Red speaks.

"Hey Blue! What's going on? Did you wanna see how well the audio is doing? I was a little worried you were mad at me when you didn't reply."

For a moment Blue can't open his mouth to respond as his mind races for words. "Oh. Yeah. I'm here to see it in person so to speak. I forgot to reply. Sorry."

"Well come on I can show you. No need to be a statue outside the door right?" Red informs a Blue who gives a small Thanks as he heads inside. He closes the door behind Blue only to lead him to the studio. He grabs another chair placing it beside his own at the computer desk. "Go ahead and sit down Blueberry. Relax a bit. Don't rattle your bones in worry. I told you that it was a hit."

Blue heads over to join Red at the computer as the other loads up tumblr. He remembers the mention of that being his main place to post on. He wonders if he uses other websites for different audio types. His eyes look to Red and his hands press against his lap. He's trying to stop anything from forming down there. His mind flashing back for a moment to the recording he did with Red. He lightly shifts a bit before Reds voice brings him back to focusing.

"Here we are. The post. And look at that. Seven more likes than the last time that I checked."

Blue looks to the screen of the computer. He can see that the audio has indeed been doing very well. He softly swallows so as to not gain the others attention. He has the words on the tip of his tongue ready to be said... He just hesitates with uncertainty. He tries to say at least something knowing that Red might really take notice. He forces out a "Yeah".

Red turns to look at Blue watching his face and eyes. "Is there something on your mind?" His question throws Blue off guard causing him to try to think of an answer. "You can tell me if you didn't like how it turned out."

"No." Blue is unable to stop himself from saying that. His arms moving up to slightly reach for Red and he lowers them after a very brief moment. "I mean." He slightly glances away. "It's not that. The audio I think was great from how I heard it during the recording." He rubs his left hand against his right upper arm.

Red can tell that something is up. He moves closer to the other. "Mind if I ask ya what is in your mind?" He really wants to know as he can tell that it is bugging Blue. He wonders if it's some good gossip, or maybe a mistake. He just hopes no one hurt the other.

"Maybe I should go." Blue gets up and starts to leave the room. He only gets halfway when Red teleports in front of him. He stops and his eyes meet with the other. He can't help himself in admiring the red eyes looking back at him.

"Come on Blue. You can tell me what's going on. I won't judge you, or tell anyone. I swear." Red tells him keeping their gazes locked together. "You'll feel better if you get it out." He goes silent and waits to see how Blue will respond to his question.

Blues patience with this has run out. His need for something to happen, tension of waiting for so long, and Red being kind, all mix together until it's overflowing. His actions turned to impulses. He reaches out cupping both of Reds cheeks. He pulls him in close closing his eyes. With his eyes closed he allows his and Reds teeth to clank together in a kiss.

Red is surprised at first and doesn't return it. He reacts just before Blue was going to pull away to flee. His arms wrapping around Blues waist pulling him close. His eyes closed and he kisses that other back. He feels the other relax, then a tongue giving a small lick to ask for a make out session. He silently agrees by opening his mouth, bringing his own summoned tongue out to dance passionately with Blues.

They keep it up for a little bit before pulling apart.

Blues hands rest on Reds chest, by his shoulders, as he leans back a little without leaving the embrace. He now has a better look at the others now open eyes. His own are half open and a blush is painted across his cheeks. "Oh Red." He speaks a little softly with lust dripping in his tone.

"Damn Blue." Red smiles as his eyes go from fully open to almost half open. He keeps his hands on the others waist. "If you wanted to do that you could have just told me. And here I thought you weren't going to do more after our recording session."

Blues gaze turns even lustful before he releases a slightly frustrated sound; doing so for his unnecessary shyness. He quickly moves back to Red starting another make out session. He strokes the others skull also feeling one on his skull, his hand sliding under the others jacket while Red caresses his lower spine. He shifts the others jacket discarding it on the floor, after one arm at a time was moved to get it off. He makes out with him for awhile before pulling back to speak also stopping the actions; their eyes closed from the kiss. "I want you to give it to me."

Red purrs at this. He cracks open one of of his eyes. He does so for navigation as he pushes Blue backwards. He keeps doing it until Blues back is against the wall. He closes his eye again as the touching resumes. He keeps it up for a bit then pulls back to talk to Blue. "I'm gonna make you feel good." He promises panting a little in lust.

"I know you will." Blue confirms verbally to him before Red leans in kissing him once more.

Red shifts his hands moving them to move Blues legs apart so he can get between them. He shoves his tongue into the others mouth as he presses their bodies together. He does so to pin the other more than before. He can feel the shiver of pleasure from the other. He knew that it'd happen. His one hand moves to go under Blues shirt trailing his hands along the others ribs. He keeps it up as Blue moans out into the kiss. He pulls back from the shared kiss and shifts taking off his partners shirt. His mouth planting kisses on Blues ribs as he tosses the shirt off to the side. He also takes off the bandana to really reveal the others neck. He nibbles upon the neck that has been revealed. He drops the bandana in the process. His one hand returning to exploring the others ribs.

"Ah! Red!" Blue calls out to the other shifting from the pleasure accidentally grinding upon him. He can feel the soft moan against his neck and the magic creating a hard length. His magic quickly crackles to life turning into a pussy. He tilts his head allowing Red more room to nibble. He lets this continue on for a few moments only to get an idea, at the same time that Reds hand starts to go lower. "Hold on."

Red pauses and moves away enough to look at Blues face. "What is it?" He wonders if he is going too fast for the other.

"We should record this." Blue moves a hand, from where they were on Reds shoulder, to gently pet Reds jaw. "Just like last time." His hand moves from the others jaw to the collar. He grabs ahold of it. His stare is full of lust. "Just like last time." He repeats by accident in his hazy lust filled mind. He also hopes that the other will get at what he is hinting about.

Red grins widely as he understands and barely holds back a chuckle. "You really do love being manhandled don't you?" He growls in lust in which the other nods almost shyly. "Well then. I think we can make that happen in the recording booth." He moves away taking Blues hand hurrying them to the recording booth. He starts up a recording since he can always edit. He gets Blue inside and grabs a small table. He places it by the microphone. He picks Blue up tossing him onto the table. He slips between his legs and begins licking the others neck.

Blue moans at the attention to his neck. "Mm. Oh yeah Red. Give it to me." He encourages, then he lets out a small yelp of surprise as the other bites his neck. His yelp turns to a small moan as a spark of pleasure goes through him.

Red purrs enjoying the sound coming out of the others mouth. He feels said others legs wrap around his waist. He presses their teeth together in a kiss. He summons his tongue opening his mouth to lick the others teeth. His request is accepted as Blue opens his own mouth.

Their tongues meeting and dancing a slow dance of passion together.

Blues hands come to be placed on Reds cheeks. He feels the other start to grind against him. He moans into the kiss and can feel the others erection.

Reds grinding helps to make Blues pussy he summoned all wet. He pulls away from the kiss a purple strand of saliva, created by theirs mixing together, connects them for a moment before breaking. He gazes lustfully down at the other. He strips off the rest of their clothes and takes in Blues naked form. He chuckles at seeing Blue blushing harder as if shy. "Don't you worry about it. You're beautiful." He grabs onto Blues hips lifting him up off the table slightly. He is a bit rough to give Blue the real manhandled feeling. "I'm going to wreck your pussy." He licks his teeth careful to not cut his tongue on them. He shoves his hard cock into the others pussy finding it sliding easily.

Blue tilts his head back with a cry of pleasure and some pain from Red entering him.

Red stops once he is all the way inside of the other. He gives his lover a few moments to adjust to his length. He pulls it out until it's just the tip after the few moments, and he thrusts it back into that wonderfully soft warm pussy.

Blue cries out in pleasure as Red thrusts in and out of him.

The table rocking in a telling rhythm. Even as the moans and grunts of pleasure wouldn't be able to tell you the same thing.

The wet noises of where the two skeletons are joined would have been embarrassing, if either of them cared.

"You're mine." Red growls as he pounds Blue who can only respond with pleasured sounds. His thrusts gaining a possessiveness with each pound. "No one else can have you." He leans down and bites down onto Blues shoulder. He makes the bite only hard enough to give a temporary mark. He doesn't want to leave something permanent without Blues permission. He feels Blues hips twitch clearly enjoying the feeling. He pulls away and licks the spot that he has just marked. "Oh yeah baby. So good."

"Red! Red!" Blue manages to call out finally. He can feel the pleasure mounting. He knows that he's probably going to cum soon. He tries to speak again only to squeak at a particularly hard thrust. He whines when Red pulls out only to flip him over. He feels his body heat up even more at being manhandled like this. He lets out a gasp that falls to a moan as Red enters him once more.

Reds pounding thrusts resume once more rocking the table. He thrusts like this for a bit, they both are panting, then feels Blues hips start to twitch. "You wanna cum for me baby?" He inquires and Blue whines in a plead. "Say it for me."

"Please! Please let me cum!" Blue pleads, his speech a little slurred from pleasure, and shivers when Red makes a satisfied sound.

"There we go." Red doesn't stop his pounding thrusts into the other. "Now cum." He feels Blue cum around his cock. He groans at feeling the other clench around him as he twitches. "Fuck! Baby you're going to make me cum. You want it inside?"

"Yes! Please!" Blue confirms to Red. His body twitching from over stimulation.

"Okay then. Here it comes." Red gets a few last good pounds in, before he stops fully inside Blue. He cums hard inside of the other holding said other in place. He manages to catch himself with his hands on the table, so he doesn't fall.

The two stay like that panting for a little bit as they come down from their pleasure high.

Red pulls out of Blue looking to how his cum dribbles out of the other.

Blue shifts standing straight then he turns around to face Red. "That was amazing."

"It sure was." Red agrees. "I'm glad that you came back for more."

Blue nods softly his cheeks heavily dusted with blush. "Me too." He agrees then Red heads to stop the recording. He moves over to stand next to Red. "You think it'll be popular?"

Red turns to Blue a little surprised at first then he chuckles. "I'm sure it will be." He confirms putting an arm around Blues shoulders. "But we can always make more. If you want to do this more often that is. So? What do you say? Be my recording assistant?"

"Only in the recordings?" Blue feels his soul drop a little. He must admit he had hoped that this would end up extended outside of it. He feels a hand gently caress his cheek. His eyes meeting with Reds own.

"We can do outside of recordings too if you want." Red offers with a smile on his face. "I wouldn't mind having you around a bit more."

Blue wraps his arms around Red and kisses him as a yes. He pulls back after they kiss for a moment.

"I probably should take you out on a proper first date." Red mentions making Blue chuckle warmly. His own smile widening at hearing such lovely laughter.

The end.

[rpbetter]

I often see multis post that they want to make a new muse, at the same time as they're backed up on threads and asks, and they get their followers to "enable" them to make that muse in the post replies. What is your take on this? Is it a they-can-do-what-they-want situation, or is it reasonable to be annoyed when I see this? Or both?

Hey, Anon!

Both.

I mean, as usual, this is my opinion of an opinion-based matter. This isn't an equation that has an objectively right to wrong scale, it isn't actually hurting any living person or thing. But...it is incredibly annoying and can be hurtful.

They can totally do what they want, and much of the nature of genuine creativity is exactly that - the allowance of doing whatever you so desire. It's something I support rather adamantly, but it's also something I support trying our best to do responsibly and without being hurtful to anyone in a hobby that involves more than ourselves.

This isn't deciding to write another fic when you've not finished the previous four or five that others were interested in, or never finishing any of your original fiction, but continually starting new projects. While others might be enjoying those things as well, you didn't agree to interact with them. They're audience members, not participants.

When others are participants in a hobby that has to work both ways, it's different. Your actions do affect other, real human beings.

So, I totally feel like you've a right to be annoyed every time you see that happening. I do. I tend to unfollow people who do that repeatedly, as we're not pursuing the hobby in the same way. I'll argue all day that someone has a right to their, sometimes literally, eighty-plus muses they never develop or stick to, but that doesn't mean I want to engage with them as a writing partner.

For those of us who want long-term writing partners with the same, well-developed muses, this kind of thing just is annoying. As is everything else that comes with it.

As in...

They're constantly posting "talk me out of adding x" as code for "talk me into writing x."

No one actually wants to be talked out of it, which was probably more obvious to everyone else here than it was me for a little while lmao I tend to take things rather literally. This was, as one can imagine, not appreciated! Telling someone in total earnestness, "I really don't think that's a good choice. You're always saying how overwhelmed you are and just dropped multiple threads yesterday, so adding another muse is going to make you feel worse eventually. Don't do it! :)" is so not what they were looking for. As was evident by the return meltdown over how they could do what they wanted, like I said they couldn't or had any authority over what they're doing with their time.

It's an obnoxious bit of pandering for a foregone conclusion.

Have you ever seen anyone who posts that sort of thing not pick up that muse? I haven't. I've only seen muns who are legitimately on the fence about it asking others in private conversations or testing out the muse decide against it. The thing that makes this incredibly irritating is the attention-seeking and need to validate something they must know isn't a great choice, otherwise, they'd just do it. They're aware that they're behind on drafts, asks, and other things - aware that this is maybe a dick move when they owe everyone already. So, they're seeking "permission" with full knowledge that multiple mutuals are going to hop on that post with encouragement, even some of the ones being messed over by this choice.

It puts people in a bad situation.

Some of those people genuinely don't care, they just want to interact with any muse, and I'm going to be awful and say it - they don't care about totally interchangeable muses and have them themselves. That's fine, this isn't a problem for them. It is for the mutuals who are hoping that maybe if their writing partner gets into this new muse, they'll get a reply to their threads with that energy, or that they'll stick to this one and they can have consistent interactions with them. It is for the mutuals who feel pressured to respond positively because they fear not responding at all will make them seem like bad rpers.

One more thing playing into the counter logic excuse for shitty behavior of "it's just a hobby" is one more thing too many, and it does exactly that.

No one wants to be accused of being remotely too invested in RP anymore, of taking it too seriously, or having any emotional investment in muses, stories, or muns. Not accepting every choice someone makes that negatively impacts you with a grin on your face while you dump confetti on them for it just isn't a comfortable option for a lot of muns anymore. Honesty isn't a comfortable option. While the other option isn't either, it seems better than that mutual noticing you're the only writing partner who didn't hop onto that post with support any of the multiple times they reblogged it. It's only a hobby in which everyone can do what they want until what one wants clashes. Then, you're getting a callout for being addicted to RP.

And the way it tends to clash most is in having expectations of others. Ones that would be totally normal in any other hobby requiring interaction with other people.

Like not overburdening yourself at the expense not only of yourself but those on your "team." That's what is being done when someone knows they cannot keep up with themselves, but continues to add to the situation with new muses.

Not only are you no longer getting responses already while they're intending to add even more to their overflowing plate, you'll be dropped again when they have to "fresh start" their blog because they're burned out.

I have to put that in quotations because I don't know how it's a fresh start when you keep everything but the blog layout the same. All the muses and all the behaviors, including adding a new one despite not having the time or interest necessary to do so, is inevitably maintaining the problems that led to burnout. Dropping every thread, changing the URL, a new blog layout, new aesthetics, isn't fixing the issue even if it temporarily reinvigorates the mun.

The mun is definitely doing things that are not helpful to them, it's stressful and upsetting to experience burnout, but it's at least that mun's choice. Both to do it and to become defensive over fixing it, thus, never fixing it. It isn't anyone else's choice to be repeatedly dropped or ignored, though...unless they just keep sticking around for it.

Again, we're supposed to respect everyone's choices. That's fine when it really works that way, when it is truly everyone. But it's not an acceptable decision to see a multimuse of twenty or more muses and say that's your limit, that you've experienced too many muns who are serial muse-adders not being able to keep up with themselves, so you don't interact with these blogs. If one feels that way, they had better not put it in their rules or ever be upfront about this as a reason, when one is demanded, for not following back or interacting.

It's not acceptable to see a writing partner adding another muse after they've owed you for months, just wiped their inbox, and keep expressing being overwhelmed/behind and become annoyed. Let alone dropping them or explaining to them why you are doing so.

The only "acceptable" course of action is hoping that they totally forget you exist so you can quietly slip away.

I don't feel like that's especially fair or mature. It certainly isn't helping the communication problem we absolutely do have here in the RPC when only one party is allowed to communicate without fear of being labeled, rather ironically, as a bad RP partner.

While this problem seems to be most prevalent in more casual RPers, it's certainly not isolated there. I feel like it's necessary to say that I've had muns I both interacted with and were simply on my dash alike who were not on that more casual side who went from being multis to being muse collectors. Once they hit over fifteen of them or so, they stopped even bothering to try to refrain from picking up at least one muse from every new piece of media they consumed or were inspired by.

It was more annoying because they had been capable of writing truly unique characters they stuck to, and even if they were, with full and upfront admission before interaction, slower to respond, those responses were well worth any wait for the quality of writing and storytelling going on. That's so much worse than someone who was always at a lower skill level as a writer, didn't have a good grasp on characterization, and wasn't especially dedicated to anything. It's depressing and disappointing, but it's also not what you think you're getting into when trying to carefully pick who to write with. Like everyone else, my time to enjoy this hobby is far from twenty-four-seven as well. It's important to me to try to choose muns I'll work out with well so that neither of us is wasting the other's time. And that's what it feels like - the investment of time was a waste because their hobby became adding infinite muses, or rather, the idea of muses.

So, yes, while it is fully everyone's right to write what and how they want to (even if it amounts to not writing at all), it'd be nice if we were all as committed to doing so in a way that was adult enough to respect commitments we've made to each other as we are, as a RPC, to losing our minds when someone merely drops the words "commitments" or "respect."

For the inevitable muse-collectors running across this:

Fiction is inspiring! That doesn't mean you needn't be inspired by anything, just that picking up or creating a whole other muse might not be the best way to follow this inspiration.

If you're considering another muse, but you find yourself already behind and/or overwhelmed? Try one of these instead:

create a plot based on it! Write up the idea and put it in your wanted plots/wishlist tag. Bring it up to partners you think might be interested in it as well, or seek out a crossover from that fandom

make it a new verse for an existing muse! This is as close as you get to creating a new muse without actually doing so, and in many ways, it takes even more creativity. How is your muse different in this AU than they are in canon, how are they the same? In the ways that they are the same, what similar events but done in a way that is natural/logical to this universe have happened to maintain that? Get really creative!

for either/both of these, make some moodboards and aesthetics with that energy while you're waiting on someone to take you up on these new things. Answer some HC asks or tag games using your new verse, or write an independent HC for the verse or plot

talk to writing partners who already love that muse about their new verse/your desired plot! No, not pressuring talk, just normal conversation between friends, but maybe they will be interested in starting a thread

simply be inspired to include some aspect of what you liked in an existent thread. A particular scene you could pull ideas from, the overall mood of a film, or the way something was written in a book - include that in your replies somehow! RP is creative writing, be creative

There are so many, honestly more organic, directions to take inspiration than bluntly adding a new muse. Especially when you're already overburdened, not holding up your end of replies, and/or not able to portray each muse as their own character properly.

Sometimes, it's not just not a great idea to add a whole new muse, and that's alright. There seems to be a serious problem with fomo going on with this whole issue, too. You're not going to miss out if you do not immediately add this character to your multi, and you're never going to fully keep up with what is trending anyway. Do it because you still want to write this muse in four months instead, they're obviously not going anywhere if that's the case, and they'll be a better developed, interesting portrayal for that.

And people do have a right to be annoyed when they feel sidelined by you seeing a shiny object and repeatedly pandering for validation in dropping them for it. Particularly if you're a mun who, further, expects everyone to be just as interested in every new muse you make as the last. As in, you're annoyed when you keep creating muses no one is falling over themselves to interact with, guilting, shaming, or outright demanding that this new muse is interacted with before they have access to the previous ones.

They don't have a right to be mean you to, but they have a right to be annoyed and to drop you. They even have a right to politely decline explaining this to you if they feel unsafe, or to politely explain it to you before they move on.

Absolutely everyone's right to pursue RP and every facet of it as they so please, but no one else has to like what you're doing.

If this response grates on some of you out there? Consider the other options you have, how you might be making others feel, and that it's actually completely okay to tell yourself no. You won't perish if you tell yourself no to taking on a new muse when you, honestly, should not! It'll be okay! Maybe, you just need to evaluate if there is another muse, or more than one, you should remove before adding one. Maybe, you just need some time to reorganize how you reply before you add this one. "No" when told to yourself can simply mean "no, not right now, it isn't a good time/situation."

[winchester-purgatory]

Fake marriage, snobby mother and booty calls | Dean Winchester x OC

Summary: Awsten’ sister tells their parents she’s married - she isn’t. Dean accepts to play along when her parents comes to visit for dinner

Word count: 1670

Notes: I wrote this for the Christmas bingo I participated back in December but only now got to finish it

-

Dean Winchester wasn't husband material. He liked old cars, 80s rock music, had a bit of a drinking problem and had been in jail. He hated to wear ties, being more of a flannel kind of guy, and always had oil or grease stained hands from fixing cars.

Her mom was going to hate him.

He was also a bit of a ladies man, but that part didn't need to be mentioned at the Christmas gathering.

''Are you sure this is a good idea?’’

''You gotta be there,'' Awsten insisted, looking at Dean over the island countertop where they were having breakfast. ''My sister already told everyone I was married. I would be the family’s laughingstock if I they show up for dinner and there is no man in my apartment after such a big news.''

''I still don't get why you couldn't tell them it was a misunderstanding. Why make things complicated when they were initially simple?''

''Because they're from another generation and won't understand. They won't find it funny that we played the 'just married' card to get free alcohol. Or that we only hook up on the daily.'' The redhead sighed, taking a sip of her hot coffee. ''If Charlie hadn't tagged us on social media, my sister would've never seen the picture and caption...''

Dean reached out, squeezing Awsten’s bare thigh on the bar stool, and looked at her with apologetic eyes. ''Charlie’s really sorry. She didn’t think the picture would get to your family.''

''I know. It’s okay. I made my peace with it. Now, we just have to play pretend.'' She stood, taking her empty plate and putting it in the sink to wash later.

Today was going to be a long day and Awsten was dreading all of it. Having her parents and sister over for Christmas wasn’t part of her December plans. For the last two years, she had escaped the family reunions and had intended to do it again this year. She didn't hate her family, they were just so strict, judgemental and draining to be around.

She'd rather rent a cabin in the mountains with a couple friends - Charlie and Dean included. At least, that promised a lot of fun.

Dean joined her by the sink, doing the same with his dishes.

''Thank you for doing this, Dean.''

As insane as the situation was, Awsten was glad to have someone like Dean. Not everyone would have agreed to partake in her crazy plan and play married couple for the holidays, even for one night. And, he will definitely add some spice to her family's Christmas dinner.

''It was my idea in the first place to get the alcohol. And, I wasn’t going to say no to free turkey.''

Awsten scoffed. ''The turkey might be free, but you are helping me. I’m not gonna do all the hard work by myself, Winchester.''

''I would try to eclipse myself, but since you did most of the work last night, I guess I could help you for today,'' he said as he slid a hand under Awsten's tee shirt to cup one of her cheeks and gave it a small squeeze.

.

After six hours of chopping, whisking and seasoning, the faux-married couple were finally ready to receive Awsten’s family.

The redhead has put a red tablecloth to mask the chips on the wooden table, something that would've definitely not gone unnoticed by her mother, and pulled out the pretty candle set she had received three Christmases ago to decorate the center.

Dean lit up the Christmas tree filled with miscandellous, non-traditional ornaments and hoped no one would point out the missing Christmas crib under the tree. It was somewhere in the storage closet and Awsten didn't feel like fetching it.

As they were setting the table, Dean caught the silver ring on the redhead’s finger. ''Just so you know, I would've never offered you this cheap ass looking ring. My wife deserves something better than a plastic rock.''

Awsten narrowed her eyes. ''I did with what I had and with the time I had, Dean! I couldn't get myself a real wedding ring. Diamonds are hella expensive.''

''You didn’t even get me one.''

''I forgot. But, knowing my family, they won't even notice. They'll be too occupied looking elsewhere,'' she promised.

''You mean my charming smile?''

She glanced at his flannel and stubbles, both red flags in her mother's book. ''Among others.''

It was around six o’clock when the doorbell rang. Awsten smoothed her velvet dress and checked her lipstick in the hallway mirror before opening the door.

''How can you get married and not tell us? I didn't raise you like this,'' her mom asked, skipping the greetings and walking in like it was her own place.

Awsten contained herself, forcing a smile. ''Hello to you too, Mom…''

Richard and Emilie, Awsten’s dad and sister, followed inside, shutting the door behind. They shed peeled off their winter layers and hung them on the overflowing coat hanger.

The elder woman peered into the apartment, looking for the handsome man her daughter had married. ''Now, where is that husband of yours? We didn't make all that travel for nothing.''

''I’m right here, Mrs. Torres,'' Dean replied, coming to the entrance to greet the guests. He kissed both her mom and sister’s cheeks and shook hands with Richard, his politeness surprising the Torres.

Although he had succeeded to impress her with his politeness, Dean didn't earn Cecelia's approval. She gave him an up and down look, disapproval casting itself on her face almost immediately.

''Shall we move to the kitchen? Dinner is ready.''

.

''What's your career, Dean?'' Cecelia asked, attacking him with questions as soon as they sat down around the table.

The redhead gave her mother a dirty look, knowing exactly what she was doing. To most, it looked like Cecelia was being nice and trying to get to know Dean, but she was being a snake and trying to find valid reasons to not like Dean to back herself with when she’ll later confront Awsten.

Dean swallowed his bite before responding. ‘’I'm a mecanicien, ma'am. I work at my uncle's auto-shop.''

''Ah.'' She glanced at her cadet daughter and back to Dean, disapproval in her eyes. ''Are you planning on taking over the business?''

''I love cars, but owning an auto-shop isn’t in my plans for the future.''

''What is, then?''

''Owning a bar. Commercializing my own beer...or whiskey, perhaps. Something along those lines.''

''I assume you are studying business?'' Mr. Torres asked, suddenly taking interest in the conversation, owning himself a business.

Dean shook his head. ''No. I’m not in college, Sir. College isn’t for me.''

''How did you meet?''

''Was it like the movies? Your car broke and he repaired it?'' Emilie asked with a snicker, making fun of her sister.

Awsten glared at her. ''No. We met through Charlie, my roommate. You remember her? She and Dean are long date friends.''

As the dinner progressed, Cecelia’s disdain toward Dean was getting more and more apparent - and she made little efforts to hide her feelings.

''If you'll excuse us, I need a drink. Awsten, darling, will you come help me in the kitchen?'' She flashed Dean a forced, bitter smile and stood, heading to the kitchen for some privacy.

.

''You don't like him.'' taking a glass out of the cabinet to

''With reasons! Have you seen this guy? I don't know what you find in him. He looks like...a lumberjack. You are worth so much more than him, Awsten. Guys like him don't go far in life,'' she said in true Cecelia Torres fashion, always quick to judge others.

''Well, we're already married, Mom. What can you do?''

''Is this why you got married in secret? Because you knew we wouldn't approve.''

An unsurprised laugh left the redhead's lips. ''Of course you would think that… Yes, Mom, I married a guy solely to spite you.'' Awsten poured the strong alcohol in the glass, the amber liquid gliding over the baby Yoda shaped ice cubes. ''Is it so difficult for you to believe that I love Dean? Just because I was raised in high society doesn't mean I wish to follow that kind of life.''

Cecelia huffed. ''You say that now, but you'll change your mind.''

''I doubt it.''

''Did he...force you into this? Marrying him.''

Awsten's eyes widened. She couldn't believe the words that left her mother's mouth. ''I'm leaving. You're being crazy.'' She took the drink she had prepared for her mother and left the kitchen, needing it.

''What about my drink?''

.

''Congratulation, Mom hates you. You’re everything she didn’t want for me.''

''Aw, damn,'' Dean said with sarcasm, helping Awsten clean up. ''I thought I had made a good impression.''

The redhead bit back a smile. ''I’m sorry for how she behaved toward you. For the way she talked about you. She’s insufferable sometimes.''

Dean shook his head. ''Don't apologize for her. I don't care what she says about me.'' He brought the leftovers to the fridge, trying to control his grin at the thought of stealing a tupperware of turkey for his lunch tomorrow. ''And it's not like we really are married - not that I'd care more then.''

''Now you get why I never visit my family. They're all similar variants of my mother.''

''They say family wants the best for you, but it's not always the case. I've stopped caring about others' opinion of me long ago. I can take a snobby mother who believes I forced her daughter into marrying me.''

Awsten stopped washing the plate, her stomach dropping. ''Oh no... You heard that?''

Out of all the disgusting things her mother had said tonight, this took the crown. Awsten had hoped Dean hadn't heard, but the kitchen wasn't very soundproof.

She opened her mouth to apologize once again, but Dean beat her.

''Don't say it.'' He turned around to face the redhead, eyes soft on her. ''She can assume whatever she want of me, but I'm still your main booty call,'' Dean added with a smirk.

''Dean!'' She hit his shoulder at his crude words, holding back a smile.

He shrugged and continued what he was doing.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 10: Myofascial Release

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Shane and Sy decompress after an emotional evening, Shane finds it difficult to get out of her own head and live in the moment, but Sy knows exactly how to help her, and not to be a complete hoe and spoil things, but…things get steamier than ever between our favorite therapist and patient duo.

Oh snap! You’re behind! Get on track here!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, alcohol consumption, the smut you’ve all been waiting for so patiently! (I hope it lives up to your undoubtedly high expectations!)

Author’s Note: Oh gosh, y’all, I am so nervous to post this. Somehow it doesn’t feel like my smuttiest smut. And like, all previous chapters have been kind of leading up to this moment. The good news is, I’ve decided to continue writing this story after the sex. I’ve got some ideas about where to go from here, and I want to keep it going. Plus, it feels wrong to write all of this and then just drop them without a big picture resolution. They’re gonna go through some shit, though. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

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@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Her living room was cast in the low light of the floor lamp she had left on. Intending to come home after dark. Alone. She hated walking into a dark house by herself.

Well, tonight, she wasn’t alone. And although Sy had been to her house before, this was different. They were officially a couple, and they were no longer waiting to express, to the fullest extent, their true affection for one another.

Ever the hostess, despite her nervous tension, Shane asked Sy if he wanted anything to drink, rambling off several options somewhat awkwardly.

“I’m fine, darlin.’” He assured her, stopping her at some point in the rant, before she was completely done. “Do you need something?”

“Umm, I think I should have a glass of wine.” Her eyes darted to the kitchen across her serve-through counter space and landed on her fridge. “I’m…I’m really nervous.”

"Why don't we watch a little TV for a while? You get you some wine, and I'll put somethin' on. What are we watchin', sunshine?"

"Ummmm, something light? Funny? Something I've seen." She wouldn't be able to process anything new or heavy right now.

"I'm on it." he kissed the top of her head and left her side for the sofa, where he plopped himself down like a comfy hound dog, and picked up the remote to her Smart TV.

She smiled as she busied herself in the kitchen. She decided she wanted a snack with her wine. She got a plate of cheese and crackers together first. Then she remembered she had some venison sausage one of her coworkers had brought in, and put that on the plate, too. She got out a chilled bottle of her favorite, cheap moscato and a stemless glass. She couldn't go in there without something for Sy, so she also got a glass of ice water ready for him. She put the whole spread on her big serving tray and took it to the living room.

Sy was already halfway through the first episode of Parks and Recreation.

"I saw this in your 'Watch it again' group, and thought maybe you'd like to re-watch it. I've heard you talk about it a lot, and I've never seen it." He didn't complain at her for taking forever. He just lit up when he saw her. Like it was the first time. And not the hundredth.

"That's perfect, babe. I brought some snacks out, too. Some cheese and crackers, and this really good sausage one of my coworkers brought me. You like deer?" she asked.

"One of my favorite pet names." he teased. "I do, though, yes."

They ate, and laughed, and watched about four or five episodes, it was hard to keep track. But after approximately half the bottle, Shane had summoned some courage. She started playing at the texture of Sy's jeans, running a fingernail across the coarse fabric.

"Hang on, love bug. I want to know somethin.'" she looked up at him, mildly confused. "I'm trying to think of a reason you need to get tipsy to sleep with me that I shouldn't take personally." he rubbed her upper arm, comforting her as no one had done since she was a small child. At least not that she could remember.

"No, Sy. It's not like that. You aren't the problem at all!" she paused. He let her gather her thoughts. She appreciated that he knew she intended to continue and that he didn't rush her to do it. He was patient. And kind. And all of that should have made this whole night easier. But somehow it didn’t.

“I’m the problem." She confessed after a long pause and a deep sigh. "I mean, I’m in my head about it all, I know. But it’s been…almost six years since I’ve slept with anyone, five and a half, at least, and I can’t seem to wrap my head around it now that I know it’s going to happen again.”

He pulled her body into his, squeezing her tightly for one of his soul cleansing hugs.

“Sunshine. Everything will come back to ya. We’ll just go as slow as ya want. I got all night.”

“Okay. Well, I guess, since I’m a bit sleepy from the wine, we should head to bed.”

Sy affirmed the idea, and made to help her put their snacks away in the kitchen.

She got out containers for their leftover food while Sy stoppered the wine, put it in the fridge, and washed their glasses.

She felt his warmth before she felt his touch. He stood behind her, radiating his particular brand of heat for a moment, and taking in the scent of her hair near her right ear. She heard a low rumble from someplace deep in him which slowed her efforts at the counter. His hands were light but very much present on her hips. A whisper against the fabric of the casual but feminine floral dress she’d chosen for the night. But she felt it like the weight of her favorite old blanket, heavy with years and warm comfort.

He kissed her temple, chaste and unassuming. But still full of desperation. She could tell that he was ready. Even without the alignment of their bodies completely giving him away.

“Don’tcha think this stuff can wait a couple hours, darlin'?"

His baritone, breathless in her ear, was soothing her back into the mindset of being with him. His feather touch still lingering at her hips and waist. She thought back to those seminars she'd gone to on manual therapy where the speaker talked in depth about the fascial tissues running all across the various muscles in the human body and how trauma to one part could cause tension in another like a snag in a sweater and how he taught the participants techniques to undo that trauma through myofascial release. Sy was slowly managing to unwind and unbind the taut fibers of her heart and relieve that pain that Elliott, in particular had set into place so firmly when he'd hurt her. Lied to her. Cheated on her. Gaslit her. Made her feel like she'd never be loved if she left him. Made her question the very idea of what love meant. Because if what they'd had was truly love, she didn't want it. Wanted no part of the games or the abuse or the manipulation.

Without fully realizing it, during this time of reflection and healing, Shane had given up the task at her hands and turned to Sy, open to his treatment, as he'd always been so open to hers…or mostly. And she let him kiss her, reciprocating. And hold her, returning his enveloping embrace. She even let him pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, resting them on his…all too well-defined bilateral gluteus maximus that she'd had to pretend to ignore for weeks. In the therapist side of her brain, alarm bells were going off. "His knee isn't fully healed! You're gonna undo all of the work you've both done so far! He's gonna hurt himself carrying you around!" but she ignored them and trusted him as he walked to her room.

Shane wanted to say that her bedroom was one of splendor. Immaculately made bed, and overall, the picture of tidiness. The reality was much, MUCH different. Glasses half full of water were everywhere (she may be forgetful, but at least she was optimistic), at least one coffee mug sat on the nightstand from the previous weekend when she took a morning cup of tea in bed with her George Harrison biography. Laundry overflowed from a sorting hamper in the corner, and her bed sat, unmade, littered with crumpled pillows, sheets, blankets, and the pajamas she'd slept in last night. She wasn't the kind of person to make her bed for reasons other than having company over, like the fancy company you had to give a tour of your whole house. She'd tried to be that person numerous times, but it never seemed to stick.

Tonight, though, the guilt that came with sub-par housekeeping skills wasn't plaguing her. Right now, all she felt was the weightlessness of being with Sy, wrapped in him, kissing him, and fully ready for what was about to happen between them, as he fell with her onto her bed. Their heads clunked together awkwardly, invoking a mutual wince, followed by bouts of laughter and playful kisses.

He hovered over her a moment, just taking her in. His fingers ghosting her forehead and cheeks to clear it of the whisps of hair obscuring her face. He seemed to examine her in methodical quadrants. Learning the curves and colors and every wrinkle, freckle, and pore. She was still fully clothed, but she'd never felt so bare and vulnerable.

He left her eyes for last. His gaze drowning her delightfully. Random song lyrics came to mind, "the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake" and she thought yes. That is the precise aesthetic of this man's stare. His expression was inscrutable. She wanted to say he looked happy and content, but she didn't want to presume.

He began tracing the floral pattern on her dress with his fingers, and said, "I really like this dress on you."

She laughed, "Oh, that's the beginning of the oldest line in the book. You know you've already got me in bed, right?"

"No, I…" he chuckled, embarrased. "I mean it sincerely. Seeing you in flowers like this…makes me think they bloom right from ya."

She propped herself up on her elbows, dumbstruck by this uncharacteristically poetic side of him she'd just been shown. She stroked the side of his face.

"The man who came up with the original pickup line is rolling over in his grave attempting to kick himself for not thinking of something so beautiful."

"Yeah?"

"HELL yeah. He would have gotten WAY more lucky with a statement like that."

"You're probably right." he said, pulling her up to hold her in his arms.

"If for no other reason that it would have landed him a higher caliber woman than the floozies that he probably got."

He moaned his ascent against her neck, and continued, "Which would have meant a lot more getting lucky down the road, right?"

"Traditionally speaking, I'd say yes." she laughed, her fingers in his hair, which was barely long enough for the action.

"Okay, I know I said I liked the dress, but…" he tugged at the hemline tucked just under her hips and pulled it off her willing body.

"About time, cowboy!" she smiled, breathless.

He continued kissing her as he unhooked her strapless bra and tossed it aside, into the abyss, where the dress had gone. She was so dizzy from him that she barely noticed he was laying her down until her warm back hit cool sheets. She could feel his touch everywhere at once, despite the fact that he was really only making two or three points of contact.

Shane trembled as Sy peppered her soft body with kisses. She couldn't recall shivering like this before, especially when there was nothing but warmth, even heat, around her. His beard grazing her hips and thighs was sending tremors through her unlike anything she'd ever felt. She was a goner, and he hadn't even truly begun.

His breath against her skin was like lightning in the clouds. A storm began forming within, and all around them from his work on her…and eventually in her. He took the time to remove both of the shirts he was wearing--plaid cotton blend and thick white jersey. She reached out to run her fingertips over his chest, covered in a manly stand of thick, dark hair. It ran over his pecs and down his abdomen…farther, she knew, than was exposed right now.

She wanted to touch him. To return the favor. To stir in him the same tempest he'd stirred in her. She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. She was a little surprised he wasn't resisting her, but pleased, all the same. She took the heavy weight of him out in some shock…she'd caught outlines and silhouettes often since they'd been together, but he hadn't let her go this far yet. It had made her feel a little slutty at the time, but now, she understood. He was…protecting her, in a way. She handled him curiously, gently, as he'd been with her. Her apprehension, however, grew with him.

"Sy, you're…I…" she wasn't sure what to say. But she had concerns about being rent in two by him.

"I think I remember tellin' ya you wouldn't be laughin,' sunshine." he grinned at her, breathless as she stroked him.

"You were right. But don't get too used to me saying so." she smirked back at him.

He pulled away from her, reluctantly, but eager to get back to tasting her.

She couldn't comprehend what he was doing. But it felt incredible. No one she'd ever been with had made her feel like this. Like her blood was effervescent and her body was aglow like embers. His reaction to her was as much a part of the pleasure as his ministrations themselves. She could tell he was enjoying himself which fed her desire.

She felt a tension coiling inside her, something similar to climaxes past but she could tell, much more intense. What was different? Other than Sy, she didn't know. But it was working. She moaned and writhed into him.

"Yeah, sugar. Let that out. I wanna hear it." he quickened, driving her mad and sending her spinning into her bliss, incomprehensible words and sounds escaping her, growls of satisfaction escaping him, but he didn't stop.

She felt his fingers working inside her to pull another climax from deep within her. This was new for her, as well. Not only was he putting her first, but he was making her a priority in double measure before taking anything for himself. As that pressure built in her again, she felt his gaze on her, hungry and adoring, and she heard his grunts of exertion and she thought, lust. She wasn't sure how many of his digits he'd managed to slide into her, but it felt splendid, and she wanted more. She gripped his arms to convey this desire, words caught in her throat. He dove headlong back down to her, adding his mouth to the onslaught of his hand, and before she could get out more than a "Fuuuu" she was falling apart again, her body spasming and writhing beneath his utter oral perfection. Eventually, she finished the word when she ran out of air and had to take in a large gasp on the "uck."

She watched him kiss around her thighs and hips, in awe of him in his entirety.

Breathless, she asked, "Why are you so good to me, Sy?"

"Well, a wise woman once told me, 'good go to heaven.'" he looked coyly up at her. "I think I'm there, sunshine."

"Ya know, you're the best patient I've ever had." she smiled.

"Well, I should hope so." he boasted as he kissed at her breasts, nipping at the taut, dark bud in the center. She gasped. He let go and continued his ascent.

He had a point. Who could have qualified as a "better" patient than him when he'd given her so much? Even more than what they were doing tonight. His kindness. The love he had always shown her, even when she wasn't ready to see it. His strength, but also his vulnerability that she seemed to be the only one ever to see. Combine that with the fact that his mind was basically a steel trap for her every word and it would have made him more than perfect enough for her.

But as he broke away from her kiss to take off his jeans, she marveled at the shape and size of his whole body. Those thick, strong arms, the broad, defined torso, the massive, powerful legs of an avid runner, and a face that God Himself would probably be jealous of, if He was capable of the feeling. This gorgeous exterior that Michelangelo would have killed to sculpt, combined with all of his other amazing qualities, and he was almost too perfect.

He cuddled up next to her, reached up, and caressed her face, still flush with pleasure.

"I could look at this face, and nothin' else for…damn… hours. Maybe days."

She blushed and cast her eyes down, and half whispered, "The feeling is mutual."

"Then why're you lookin' away, darlin'?" he tilted her chin up. "That shy business is cute and all, but you don't have to hide from me, sweetheart."

"Again, it's not you, it's me." she chuckled, nervously.

"You wanna call it a night, for now?" he asked without a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"You're kidding, right?" she raised her eyebrows. "You did all that work getting me ready for you, and I won't let that be a wasted effort." she pulled him to her and into a deep kiss, rolling onto her back and bringing him with her.

"Oh, sugar, that wasn't no wasted effort. That was time well spent. No matter what." he said in short bursts when he could pull away from her lips.

He lifted himself up and over her, kneeling between her legs, already open for him. She thought he should know how ready she was. Thought it should be painfully obvious. But he asked anyway.

"You ready, sunshine?" he asked, as he opened the condom and rolled it on…damn he was slick! She hadn't even noticed him get it from wherever he'd had it. She presumed his jeans pocket, which would explain much. She had been very distracted by his naked perfection.

"Yes. Please." she had been struck with an urgency as they stood here on the verge of everything.

He sunk slowly into her, the contentment of coming home spread over his face, the bliss of being whole spreading over hers. No, she thought. She was more than whole. She'd always felt mostly whole during sex. Sy made her feel as though she was overflowing with herself. And not just because she was overflowing with him. The way he moved in her, over her, with her, it was like he was afraid she'd turn to vapor around him before he could finish. Like she was nothing more substantial than a bubble full of smoke, and he thought she may burst and disappear. Although, you couldn't tell from the tight grip he kept on her. A bruising grip that she thought might have had a chance of popping a football. She didn't care. She wanted him to touch and hold her like this until they had no more to give each other.

As they built toward their mutual undoing, the world and everything in it faded away. There was no personal drama or injury. Nothing but the euphoria of this newfound oneness. The caresses and thrusts and groans of pleasure were the only things that mattered. Each other, and what they found therein.

“Shane.” He whispered to her, his pinnacle nigh.

“Sy!” She whimpered, that familiar tension approaching its apex.

He kissed her, as if he meant to permanently emboss her onto the bedding and onto his lips. She reeled as she came undone, little sparks of light obscuring her vision for a fraction of a second. He followed her closely, breathless and spent.

He laid down beside her, as close to her as possible, and began drawing mindless circular patterns on her stomach and around her breasts.

“Wow.” She said, almost under her breath.

“How ya feelin,’ sunshine?”

“Mmm, boneless. Dazed. Half wishing we’d done that weeks ago. I didn’t have a clue what I was missing.”

“Oh, I think you had an idea.” He said as he neatly doffed and disposed of the prophylactic in the waste can by her bed.

“Okay, a bit.” She chuckled. “It’s not like you can hide that…thing.”

“And I don’t try to, darlin’!” He kissed her forehead “Well, I don’t hide it just anywhere, put it that way.” He smirked at his dirty joke and she swatted him for it.

“You’re bad!”

“And you love it.”

She couldn’t argue. She loved his badness and his goodness and everything in between.

Up Next: Chapter Eleven- Discharge Plan 

[cowandcalf]

Writer’s Month 2020 - To Find A Way

Prompt No. 21 - Family Part I

Chapters 1 - 10

Chapter 11

Danny still feels the rush of nervousness when Steve has made it clear he wanted to spend time with him and Grace at the beach, at home where he grew up. This is big. This implies family and a future. Danny wants it. He wants everything. He wants to have days and years ahead of them. This day symbolizes a milestone.  And… and they are only going steady for a week, a week. What a stupid expression but seriously, they're only together for seven freaking days! Good Gracious, but to Danny, it feels as if they'd picked up where they have left off in another life. It must be something like that. Steve shared Kamekona's insanely ridiculous comment after a hot night. In the darkness, sweaty, their legs entangled and with a soft press of Steve's lips to his chest, Danny learned that Kawika and Kame think Steve and he are soulmates.

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Danny's heartbeat tells him he believes in this weird spiritual crap. The way Steve and he go at it just tells that the guys are right about it. This isn't normal. It's not normal how he misses Steve when he's at work. It grazes madness the way he breaks every traffic rule just to get as fast as possible to his man. Gosh, Danny feels like he's sixteen again and so madly in love.

Steve always waits for him at the flower shop no matter the time. When Danny walks through the door Steve greets him by pressing him up against the nearest wall before he kicks the door shut. Danny drowns in Steve's gasps and whispered words. They make love and they fuck on every surface available. They eat in between, feed each other only to end up in bed exhausted, satisfied, and with new bruises and scratches from the various pieces of furniture in Steve's jungle house.

But today is the kind of special that adds a new depth to what they already have.

Today is beach day. Steve has waited for this day from the moment he has told Danny about the color turquoise he plans to paint the walls in Grace's room. The room he plans to put up at his house. All week-long, Steve has been out here to get everything ready for Grace. He has kept everything a big secret. Danny is still overwhelmed by Steve's devotion and the sheer force he makes things happen.

Danny still can't believe how fast everything turns into this let's-spend-the-rest-of-our-lives-together thing. He's not scared. Maybe he should be scared because they've skipped having any date at all only to jump right at fucking each other's brains out to steer toward having a family day at Steve's parent's house where he lives. That's… intense especially for Danny but he's not worried. No, in fact, he's as calm as a sleeping whale. He and Steve click like nothing he has ever experienced. And he loves this guy with almost an angry seriousness and that scares him sometimes. Because at this point, Danny knows there will never ever be anyone else but Steve.

And Danny has brought Grace to the game like from 'zero hour' and that's something he has never done with any of his former dates. Never. As if he had a choice. Jesus. He ran into Steve at the hospital. In a blink of an eye, Steve and his little girl have bonded over doing a game on the seesaw on a children's playground. And Grace has turned into that center from where Steve's world has started to grow into a completely new dimension. Danny isn't a nervous wreck over the possibility his baby girl could get hurt over them breaking up. Danny knows hell is going to freeze over before he and Steve won't make this relationship work. Because that's what this is. They don't name that huge intimate thing that grows every day into so much more. It just is and they know it. Danny would freaking marry this wild beast of a wonderful man on the spot if he asked him. So, yes, his mental health floats in a sphere he hasn't known existed.

"Do you have everything you need?" Danny calls from the kitchen. He washes salad in the sink, standing in Steve's kitchen, and picks the limp leaves to heap them up on the countertop. He dries his hands on a dish towel he has thrown over his shoulder.

Grace runs into the kitchen right up to him. She wraps her arms around his legs. "Steve has bought everything, Danno." She tells him excitedly. "He has sand shovels, a pink sand sifter, a blue pail, a green one, and a red pail for the water. And – and a lot of plastic forms. Big ones and small ones and there is a dolphin and a mermaid and fish." She bends her head back and looks up at Danny. Her face is in awe.

Danny lifts her up to have a father-daughter talk. "He showed me. I guess Steve has bought the best pieces to build the greatest sandcastle of Hawaii just for you. He wants you to have fun. You okay with that, Monkey? To be outside with Steve at the beach?"

"Uh-huh," Grace's head wobbles with eyes big and joyful.

"I stay in the kitchen for a bit and prepare lunch, okay?" Danny knows Grace is going to be fine but he's not so sure he's ready for this challenge. He wants to be though. The vastness of the ocean scares him and all the horror movies with giant sharks roll through is mind. "You call me if you need something or you'll tell Steve, okay? He's taking good care of you."

"Yes," she answers and writhes like a snake in his arms. "I wanna go outside, Danno."

"Where's Steve?" He knows how important it is for Steve to dig around in the sand with Grace, to hear her laugh, and to see her joy. He knows that but still, it's Grace and there are tons of seawater rolling in steadily a few feet from where they want to build the sandcastle.

"He says he wants to get the towels." She runs out of the kitchen but comes right back. "Steve said he bought a turtle for me." Grace shouts breathlessly.

Danny smiles with eyes as big as saucers. "He bought a turtle for you? A living animal?"

Grace giggles and storms back into the kitchen. "No! Danno! A sun umbrella that looks like a turtle!" She's out of breath and leans against the chair.

Danny can't really grasp all the small events that have turned their lives upside down. During the last week, he hasn't slept one night at his apartment. And he spends all his spare time with Steve. It's been a whirlwind of emotional and colorful days.

"Danno!" Grace calls over to him. "I said Steve has a turtle umbrella for me."

Danny snaps out of his reverie. "Sorry Monkey, I got lost in thoughts." He strokes her hair, "a turtle umbrella! Wow! That sounds awesome. Why don't you show me?"

"Okay," Grace plucks at her bathing suit with the flower print. "I'm hungry."

"Do you like a sandwich? Ham and cheese with tomatoes? Yeah?" Danny cuts one of the prepared Jersey sandwiches in half. He hands her the plate. "Here Monkey, one is for Steve. Lunch is ready in an hour. You gonna start with – with what? Digging holes?"

"Come, I'll show you," Grace takes the plate and walks out the door. "Steve said we'll make a big castle and we dig a deep ditch so the water can stream right in. He said the waves will fill the ditch and it's fun to watch."

Danny's heart overflows with happiness seeing his little girl so excited about something. He worries way too much. They'll be fine having a wonderful beach day without him playing watchdog. "Where's your hat, Gracie? And what about your fancy sunglasses? Don't you want to put them on?" Danny follows her into the living room where he has put their luggage.

"Have you found your glasses?" Danny steps up to where his daughter kneels on the floor. He crouches down beside her.

She goes through the sports bag Danny has packed to bring to Steve's house. It's a big house with big rooms but it looks strangely empty and abandoned in some way. Steve spends more time at the flower shop than at his parent's house that is his real home. Mary and Kawika live right next door. Danny thinks it's beautiful to have a sister living so close by, her backyard only a few minutes down the beach. Steve could drop by any minute to have a chat, have breakfast together.

"Got it!" Grace shouts and shoves the pink flowery shades over her nose.

"You look like a beach lady with big plans." Danny takes the plate with the sandwich. "Come, let's go and see what's Steve up to all alone at the beach."

Grace dashes out the door before Danny can ask about the sunblock and the extra shirt.

Steve puts up the second sunshade right next to the turtle one. "Hey, Danno, shall I cream Gracie with sun cream?"

"I don't want it." Grace says, already busy with the buckets. "It's sticky and makes all the sand stay on my arms and knees." She whines a little and picks up the little shovel.

"It's hot out here, Grace. You have tender skin. We can't leave it unprotected." Steve explains with a gentle voice. "Let Danno decide what's best for you, okay? I'll put on some cream too if this makes you feel better?" Steve suggests and bites heartily into a juicy half of Danny's favorite Jersey sandwiches. "Ah, it tastes awesome." He keeps a distance and just gifts him with a smile.

Danny knows Steve's insecure how much affections he's allowed to share in front of Grace. "I take pride in prepping the most authentic New Jersey sandwiches. You're welcome." He winks and makes sure to hold Steve's gaze. "Grace, come do me a favor and put on this shirt. We can't have you catch a sunburn. That hurts and it's not good for your skin. And your mommy wouldn't be pleased with me."

Grace is digging, too busy to even reply. She stretches her arms over her head and let Danny put on the white, light shirt. "That's better, Monkey."

Steve also pulls a shirt over his head. "Look, Grace, partner look. See? I wear a shirt too. It's simple, effective sun protection." He darts another smile over at Danny. "You okay with me and Grace out here, Danny?" He drops to his knees next to Grace where she's busy digging holes and filling the plastic forms.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry." Danny bends down and adjusts Grace's hat. He kisses the top of her head and leans over to press a soft kiss to Steve's head, too. Grace doesn't even notice. Steve's warm hand caresses Danny's calf. "I'll be inside and prepare lunch. You'll shout if you need anything." Danny points a finger at Steve. "You take care of my little girl and don't let her be in the sun too long. Take breaks and come visit me some time so I know you haven't been washed out with the surf to God knows where."

Steve gifts him with an epic eye-roll. "Danny, I'm a SEAL and I spent my childhood at this beach. It's Hawaii and I know the rhythm of the tides like the back of my hand."

Danny wiggles with his index finger. "SEAL or no SEAL, you show up at the kitchen after an hour." He juts his chin in Steve's direction. "Is this understood?"

"Sure," Steve answers with a forced chuckle. "Your wish is my command."

"Hey," Danny makes Steve look at him, "I trust you." He emphasizes again.

Danny knows Steve's overeager to get it right for Grace and him. Danny's not as relaxed as he wished to be but he chooses a lighthearted voice to show Steve he's okay with him looking after his daughter. "Good. Have fun then." Danny turns and is about to walk back to the house. He taps the beaten wooden chair lightly and calls over his shoulder. "Steve, don't go swimming without the life vest on. Please?" He can't help it.

Steve gives him the thumbs up but the next second he's deepened in a serious conversation with Grace. They've got big plans. Danny walks back to the house with a warmer feeling in his stomach. This is better. It's going to be alright.

The flap flap flap sound reaches Danny's inattentive ear halfway into cooking his mother's famous tomato sauce. The lasagna sheets and the béchamel sauce are ready. Steve's kitchen smells like an Italian restaurant. He nibs at a spoon full of sauce to check what misses. He tries hard to keep the attention directed to cooking. His gut tells him to go check up on what's going on at the beach. But he stays inside and squashes the itch to act like an overprotective father. Steve's going to do great by being the adult looking after Grace.

Flap flap flap.

Cheese. He has forgotten to take the Parmigiano Reggiano out of the fridge. That's the best cheese to grate on top of the dish once all layers are filled in. Danny talks in his head to distract himself. Some odd worry spreads into his stomach and he can't figure out why. He shuts his eyes and counts to ten before he rinses a spoon and a knife under the running water.

The sound of the helicopter seems to spread wide into the sky, and it's getting closer and louder. Danny lifts his head to look out of the window. He sees a banner with the lettering 'newly married John and Amanda' and a big red heart. Danny watches a moment, seeing how the small airplane crosses the sky followed by one helicopter. No, two. Gosh, three helicopters approach through the sky. Some rich dude makes his kid's wedding a day to remember. Why do they need to fly over this part of the beach? The pilot makes sure the guests get what they've paid for. They fly so close by Danny can read the logo on the birds. Freaking idiots.

Danny's heart jumps to his throat and the cutlery clatters when he drops it in the sink. Helicopters and loud whirring rotor blades. Not good! Steve! Shit, is this…? Danny spins around and rushes through a safety check to make sure nothing's going to burn or boil over before he dashes out of the kitchen. He's not half-way through the living room when he hears Grace's scared and high-pitched voice, filled with dread, shouting his name.

"Danno! Daddy!"

Grace doesn't ever, ever call him daddy unless she's terrified.

"Grace! Gracie! I'm here! I'm coming!" Danny yells. Spiking Fear gives him an instant headache. He tastes blood in his mouth his heart beats so hard and fast. Danny yanks the door the lanai open. "GRACE!"

Danny bolts forward. He sees his daughter's face in tears; eyes wide with fear. She throws herself into his arms. Danny catches her and carries her immediately inside. He needs to check on her first, to make sure, she's unharmed. "Grace-baby, it's fine. Danno's here. Are you hurt? God, what's up, Monkey?" He carries her trembling little body over to the couch and keeps her pressed to his chest. He whispers soothing words and strokes her back to calm her. She doesn't seem hurt. "Are you hurt, baby?" He tries again.

Grace tucks her face into his throat and shakes her head. She's hot and sweaty and pants from running so fast.

Danny holds her in his arms until her sobs calm down. Only then he realizes what she's wearing. A life vest and big towel is thrown over her shoulders like a cape. Two floatation aids are pulled over each of her upper arms. She still wears the hat but her sunglasses are gone. Danny undoes the knot of the towel. His hands shake terribly. He's legs are numb from the shock that something might have happened to his little girl. He still hears the fucking helicopters in the sky. The sound seems deafeningly loud. He feels his heartbeat in his tongue. "Monkey, hey, sweetheart," he kisses her tear-stained cheek. "Baby, where… where's Steve?" He whispers against her hair with his nerves strung tight.

TBC

[yunaffie]

Second Life

Exchange fic for @trucywright as part of @fyeahghosttrick‘s Ghost Swap fanworks exchange.

Prompt: “free spot for any and all Alma content”

Happy Ghost Swap, dear recipient! Hope it’s to your liking!

Crossposted to AO3 here.

A shrill ring cuts through the cacophony of a babbling toddler and the thumps of her plastic bowl. Snapping her book shut, Alma follows the sound, anticipating her husband on the other end of the phone. A fierce growl emanates from her stomach, spurred on by the aroma of curry. 

"Hey, baby, it's me."

"Cabanela? Let me guess, Jowd's going to be late, right?"

"Well, that's not quite it. You see, things got pretty crazy today and now I'm callin' from the hospital-"

The word 'hospital' rings in Alma's ears, provoking a sharp intake of breath. Curling her fingers around the receiver, she utters a single whisper. "No."

"Whoah, it's okay, baby, it's nothin' serious. Just a leg wound, that's all. I think you should come down here though, not sure he's in any condition to drive."

Alma feels the thrums of her heart beneath her palm. "You had me scared for a moment. I'll be right over." Bundling Kamila onto the car, she takes off, keeping the speed limit in mind as she weaves through traffic. Jowd is putting his life on the line every day as an officer of the law but even knowing that, a little thing like him getting hurt is enough to steal away her breath. Swallowing, she blinks away the sudden onset of tears and focuses solely on reaching her destination. 

"Hey." Cabanela is right there. Alma seeks comfort in his warm chest, holding Kamila to one side. "Gods, what a day this has been." When he steps back, she notices how his usual vibrant energy has faded, leaving him with slumped shoulders and a haggard expression. "And it was all because of me. I'm sorry, baby. I screwed up, and Jowd got hurt."

"Don't be ridiculous." Alma's tone is stern. "Was he shot? Even if he was, that was in no way your fault. He knew what he was getting into when he joined the force."

Cabanela's head sways from side to side. "I'll explain it to you on the way."

Alma absorbs every detail with keen interest: an interrogation gone wrong, the suspect fleeing with gun in hand, Jowd in pursuit, a hostage situation, the meteorite impact out of the blue.

"A meteorite fragment? Are you serious?"

"Sure am. Jowd got to see a meteorite fallin' close up. Must have been an amazin' view. Sure wish I could have seen it."

"So he wasn't shot then."

"Oh, no. Thank the gods for that. I don't think I could live with myself if it was my own gun that hurt him."

"And what of the little girl? What happened to the man?"

"The little girl's fine. Jowd says the criminal peeled himself off a lamppost and threw the girl to safety while his own legs turned to jelly under a fallin' rock. Look, I don't understand it anymore than you do, baby."

"Wow." Alma bounces Kamila around in her arms. "You weren't kidding about things getting crazy."

"Nooope, I sure wasn't." Cabanela opens the door and gestures for her to enter.

Jowd is sitting on the bed, his leg swathed in bandages, with his folded coat beside him. Alma lets out a quiet gasp and Jowd's eyes meet hers. For a long second, husband and wife are caught in each other's stares, neither uttering a word. Alma breaks the spell, his name slipping from her lips as she thrusts Kamila into Cabanela's arms. Flying to Jowd's chest, she sinks into his comforting embrace.

"Alma... oh, gods... you're alive. You're okay."

Alma pulls back with a quizzical frown, finding herself the subject of an intense stare. His eyes are coated with a glistening sheen. "Jowd, are you alright?"

Fluttering his eyelids, Jowd takes in a breath and releases it. "I'm just so happy to see you, that's all."

Doubt radiates from her eyes. Those words had been heavy and loaded with meaning, spoken by a man deep in the throes of his emotions. "I can't believe you got hit by a meteorite." His facial hair is rough and tickly against her palm. "Just what are the chances of that?"

"I wonder. Probably less than being hit by lightning. Not that I ever got the chance to discover what that feels like." Jowd's chuckle rings hollow in her ears. The flash of mirth in his expression goes out like a light. His next words are directed at Cabanela. "Hand me my daughter, would you?"

"Heeere you go, baby."

"Daddy," Kamila burbles, stretching her tiny arms. Jowd holds her aloft under intense scrutiny before taking her into his embrace, bringing his lips to her head.

"Kamila. You're going to be alright now. I won't leave you ever again." 

His words are like a faint breeze flowing past Alma's ears. It might be she wasn't meant to catch them at all. 

Once he's in the foyer of his home, Jowd transforms into a statue, resting on his crutches. Alma peers at his face, mystified by the dazed look in his eyes.

"So I'll just hang this up, shall I?" Cabanela is already placing Jowd's coat on a hook.

"Hm?" Jowd's head twists toward his voice. "Oh. Yes, that's right. Cabanela, check my coat pockets, would you?"

"Sure. Huh?" Cabanela holds aloft a bundle of black fur. "What's thiiis?"

"Meet the newest member of our family. His name is Sissel."

A rush of protests flow forth from Alma's lips at the unexpected news. How could Jowd not tell them to buy the necessities for a cat on the way home, she asks. Jowd's response is not to worry about it but Alma isn't convinced. At the very least, she has to put out a bowl of water and a plate of leftover chicken, as well as some newspaper in a cardboard box. How can Jowd expect a kitten to go without food, water, or somewhere to do his business for an entire night?

They sit down to dinner, hearing Kamila's excited cries from the next room as she gets to know their newest family member.

Jowd lifts the spoon to his mouth, blowing on the curry before taking his first mouthful. "Ahh. This curry. It's just as I remember."

Eyes meet across the table, flashes of concern striking in midair. It was only a week ago that curry was last eaten in this house. Jowd brings one spoonful after another to his mouth with gusto.

"Calm down." A small laugh bubbles through Alma's lips. "You'll choke if you keep eating that fast."

Jowd takes a sip of water. "It's just so good." Capturing Alma and Cabanela in his intense stare, he continues. "I'm so glad. Being at home with my family, seeing you all happy, it's such a wonderful thing. I'm so thankful to have you all in my life."

"Jowd." Alma's hand covers his.  "Are you okay?"

"I nearly killed a man with my own hands and then got struck by a meteorite. On the plus side, I adopted a kitten so I guess it wasn't that bad a day." Jowd lifts his shoulders, his lips curving in a smile that fails to reach his eyes. "It could have been a lot worse."

Alma draws back her hand, lines furrowing her brow. 

When the time comes for Cabanela to return to his home, Alma follows him outside.

"Somethin' sure is straaange about Jowd, huh?" Cabanela rests a hand on his hip. "I don't know what's going on, but he does seem a bit off."

"I don't understand." Alma pinches her lower lip between her teeth. "That way he looked at me in the hospital and what he said. Did you see how he kind of froze up when we got home? Then the stuff with the curry. I think something happened in that park and it changed him."

"His near death experience might have sooomething to do with it. Whatever it is, I'm sure he'll tell us eventually. If not, we're just gonna have to coax it out of him, baby. No way we'll just let him suffer in silence."

"You're right. We're here for him." Rubbing her arms, Alma adds, "Tonight could have been so different."

"Well, fortunately, it wasn't." Cabanela grips his forehead. "Gods, I still can't believe I messed up like that."

"You made a mistake. It happens." Alma's words are like a gentle tide striving to wash away his guilt. "Don't beat yourself up over it too much, okay? Just learn from your mistakes and move on. That's all you can do."

"Right. I'll do my best to make up for it. Goodnight, Alma." Cabanela plants a kiss on her cheek before whisking away in a flurry of white fabric. 

Retreating inside, Alma discovers Kamila nodding off as she nestles in her father's arms. Sissel perches behind Jowd, looking over his shoulder as if taking an interest in this spectacle himself.

"I'll take her to bed." Alma extracts their sleepy toddler. After sending Kamila into slumber, she comes to Jowd's side. "So. Anything you would like to do tonight?"

Jowd tilts his head while several seconds tick by. "Music. Put on one of your favourite artists."

"Alright, music it is." 

As the music flows, Alma nestles against Jowd's warm bulk. His broad and gentle arm encircles her, filling her with overflowing love and comfort. Closing her eyes, she commits herself to the flowing melody. A splash of moisture against her skin draws her attention to Jowd. Two glistening trails are streaking down his cheeks.

"It's okay, sweetie." Alma presses her hand to his damp skin. Jowd's searching gaze ensnares her, pulling her into its twin wells of sadness. "I'm here, you know."

"You're really here. Alma." Jowd's words land heavily, laden by the weight of his emotions. 

"Mmm." Eyes lingering on her husband's visage, Alma traces the sharp contours of his well defined cheeks with her fingertips. In the corner of her eye, she catches the twitch of a tail and extends her hand. Sissel's dark fur is soft to the touch. Scratching the base of his ears, she offers him an invitation.

With a meow, Sissel stretches his legs, light rippling over his taut form before he hops gracefully into Alma's lap. As she strokes him, the vibration emanating from his body grows even louder.

"What a sweet little kitten. So, what made you decide to name him Sissel?"

"Hm. I suppose it just popped into my head."

"You know Sissel is usually a girl's name, right?"

"I don't think he really cares."

"Fair enough." The kitten has taken to lying across her lap. Alma's stroking continues, a purely mechanical motion kept up even as she drifts into her thoughts. So many things are off. Someday Jowd will surely tell her and she'll wait until then.

Silence falls over them with the music's end, a cue for them to turn in. Before the light goes off, Jowd takes Alma in his arms, "Goodnight, Alma." His warm breath caresses her face as he brushes his lips over hers. "I love you."

"I love you too," Alma says, with another kiss. "Goodnight."

During the days that pass by, Alma watches. She notices all the little things. Stares pinning her a beat too long. Eyes hazing as he drifts away on the tide of thoughts. Recollections beyond his grasp, as though no longer fresh but tainted by time that shouldn't exist. Her name passes his lips more often as do his declarations of love. His slightly cynical side seems to have amplified over time. The retorts he let loose are often darkly humorous in nature. Alma and Cabanela have many tales to share of Jowd's bizarre words and actions. 

Alma is frequently roused from slumber by Jowd's fitful mutters or the bed rocking in tune with his tosses and turns. Her name is spoken many times, infused with pain. She pulls him out of the nightmares and he clutches her like she's his salvation in the midst of a storm, soothed by her reassuring words. 

A painting has taken the place of the antique gun that was on display. Jowd's explanation is short and simple. He fancied a change. Nothing is said about what prompted him to make the change in the first place.

The sight of Kamila dangling Sissel and twirling one day provokes a gasp of horror from Alma, who immediately retrieves the kitten, issuing gentle admonishments. Sissel seems fine in spite of it all, not having made a peep as one would expect of a kitten at the mercy of a small child. It occurs to Alma that he has never scratched anyone. The house remains clear of his fur. His litter box is perpetually clean. Even his food and water bowls are never touched. 

There are times Alma will catch sight of Jowd and Sissel lost in each other's stares. Once, as they remained oblivious to her presence, she saw for herself how her husband's face changed or how Sissel would twitch various body parts. If she didn't know any better, she would swear they were having a conversation.

The mystery only deepens with the awareness that Sissel isn't growing over the months he has been with them. 

A year has elapsed since the park incident. Jowd has a grave look on his face as he announces that he has something important to tell Alma and Cabanela. Once Kamila is asleep, the three gather round the table. Sissel watches from the sill.

"So." Jowd puts his hands together. "Where should I begin?"

"The day in the park, right?" Cabanela's expression is grim. "Ever since that day, sooomething's been off about you, baby. Alma and I have been worried about you all this time."

"I know." Jowd's breath billows forth in a heavy gust. "I never had any intention of hiding this from you forever. Sissel wouldn't have allowed it either."

"Huh?" Alma shoots a glance at the kitten. "Wait, so you really have been talking to the cat?"

"It might be easier if I just get this out of the way first. Sissel, perform a trick, would you?"

Sissel collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. The soft hum of the overhead fan picks up, its guttural whine filling the room as it rotates faster, stirring the air and turning it into a strong breeze that wafts over them, ruffling their hair and clothes. 

"Ye gods."

"H-how..." Alma brings trembling fingers to her mouth. 

"That's Sissel's power. A ghost trick, a power of the dead."

It suddenly makes sense. The random noises heard around the house. Objects moved or transformed without explanation. It was the work of this supposedly dead kitten.

"But, but..." Alma struggles to call the words forth. "When? How did he die?"

"The meteorite. The fragment that pierced my leg is inside Sissel's body."

"But this makes no sense! How can he move around and stuff? Why isn't he, like, rottin'?"

"That's the meteorite's power. His body is immortal. Nothing can damage him. I could put him in the microwave for five minutes and he would come out of it completely fine."

Alma kneads her forehead. In the span of five minutes, she's learned the cat is dead and her husband has joked about microwaving him. She is tempted by the siren call of another glass of wine but quickly dismisses it. This is too important a conversation to be lost to the blurring effects of alcohol on the memory.

"That meteorite grants powers of the dead, even to those who merely die within its radiation. And now that you know all about it, it's time to tell you the story of an alternate version of events that went down in the park."

The man Jowd faced in the park was killed by the meteorite, a fact that drains all the colour from Cabanela's face. Sharp, spiky pain pierces Alma's chest, brought forth by the knowledge that Jowd blamed himself. How must it have felt, being consumed by that guilt?

It gets worse. Four years into the future, on Alma's birthday, Kamila made a surprise contraption and it was instrumental in her mother's death. Or rather, her murder, carried out by that man with the powers of the dead. Jowd is still speaking, his words growing increasingly tinny and distant. Alma cradles her head in her hands, her ears filling with a dull roar.

She was murdered by a man she had never met, his actions spurred by the desire to make Jowd feel pain. Heat and cold twist together in a fierce maelstrom, churning inside of her trembling body.

"Why?" Her voice quivers like a leaf caught in the wind. A veil of moisture sweeps over her eyes, transforming everything into a blur. "Why me? I didn't do anything. Why did I have to die? Jowd didn't mean to... he didn't put that man in the meteorite's path on purpose!"

"How could he?" Cabanela's words lash out, sharp as a whip. The table judders from the impact of his fist. "Taking Alma's life like that, making it look like that poor little girl's fault!"

"Alma, are you alright?" The weight of Jowd's hand settles upon her shoulder. "Should we stop here?"

"No." Alma dashes the back of her hand across her eyes. "Keep going. I'm okay." It's a lie, constructed for the sake of keeping this conversation going. No way will she put this off after waiting so long.

Jowd's next revelation hits like a punch to the gut. Claiming credit for Alma's murder, Jowd turned his back on their daughter, leaving her to someone else's care. By this point, Alma is completely numb. Jowd's agony radiates from every crevice of his face, simmering away in the hollow pools of his eyes. She sees all those moments she found Jowd standing over Kamila's crib in a whole new light.

Five years later, Jowd was to be executed. A saviour came to his cell; a ghost with the man's face in search of his lost memory. Said ghost would go on to become their beloved family pet. Alma watches Cabanela's face change as he hears detail after detail, ending in a look of relief over the revelation he was working to save Jowd all along. 

"But of course I was, baby. I would never, ever doubt you. Still, five years and me not even visitin' you once? What's up with that?"

"I'm so glad. You had people who believed in you, fighting for your sake." Tears spill forth, coursing down Alma's cheeks. "Thank goodness."

"Yes. No matter how much I insisted, they refused to listen, and I'm so very grateful. Thank you, Cabanela."

"No need to thank me, baby. You're one of my best friends in the whooole world and I would never give up on you."

"So, what happened next? What happened to Kamila?"

Jowd launches into the next part of the tale, detailing how his and Lynne's pursuit of the manipulator went horribly wrong. Alma covers her mouth, horror constricting her chest in its tightening band. Kamila sinking into oblivion within the freezing confines of a destroyed submarine. Jowd gunned down, also lost to the depths of the sea. Even with the odds against them all, they found the ray of hope in the darkness and it was down that path of light that they found salvation in the form of a whole new ten years.

"And so, here we are." Jowd's shoulders sag. "Any questions?"

"Gods." Cabanela rubs his forehead. "I don't even know where to begin."

Alma drags her gaze to the clock, observing the time. On cue, her mouth opens in a yawn. Despite the tiredness weighing her down, she doubts she'll sleep tonight. Bringing her eyes back to Jowd, a fresh pang pierces her chest. For a whole year, he held in all this pain, all these secrets. Embracing him from behind, she buries her face in the crook of his neck. "Oh, Jowd."

Cabanela comes to her side, joining her in embracing Jowd. "I'm glaaad you finally told us, baby. You did the right thing." 

Countless minutes tick by while they hold on, lingering in each other's presence. When they break away, Alma turns to the kitten and pulls him to her chest. "Thank you, Sissel. You saved us all. Thank you so much." Her gratitude is acknowledged with a mew.

The lateness of the night draws them all to bed. Jowd and Alma lie beneath the sheets under the cover of darkness, silence hanging over them like a heavy weight.

"You shouldn't have left her."

"I know."

"You should have been there for her. She needed you."

"I'll never abandon her ever again, I promise you."

"I believe you." Alma's chest rises sharply and falls, her breath rushing out in a great sigh. "To think I was just murdered, out of the blue, leaving you two well before my time, it's so awful. How could he do that? I know, you told me everything, and I do feel sorry for him, but I can't just ignore what he did."

"I understand."

"Gods. I wondered what you were hiding for so long, but I never imagined it would be anything like this. I don't know how you managed to keep quiet for a whole year."

"Having a therapy cat helped."

"Right, you had Sissel to talk to." Alma scoots closer, draping her arm over his chest. "Well, now we all know, so that's a load off our minds, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's a relief really, having it all out in the open at last." Jowd kisses the top of Alma's head. "I'm so lucky to have all this back. When you died, I just fell to pieces. I missed you so much. Sometimes I still can't quite believe it. I'll wake up in the morning and see you lying next to me and I just feel so incredibly relieved."

"Oh, Jowd." Alma seeks out his face, stroking her fingers along his stubbled cheek. A deep ache wells in her chest. It's okay, she assures herself, she won't die. Nobody is going to suffer from her loss. Their happy family life will continue beyond four years from now.

Dipping in and out of sleep, Alma emerges from a gruelling nightmare involving her being six feet under. Seeking out the clock display, she learns that it's five in the morning. 

"Forget it." Throwing on a bathrobe, Alma slouches downstairs.

Cabanela sits at the table. Little white wisps rise from the mug in front of him. "Hey, baby. Sleep well?"

"What do you think?" Alma peers at him through lowered lids, speaking in a voice as thick as syrup. 

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Cabanela stretches his arms over his head. "Didn't sleeeep so hot either. I just couldn't stop thinkin' about it. Anyhoot, I just boiled the kettle, so help yourself."

"Thanks." Alma pours herself coffee and joins Cabanela. The warmth of the mug seeps into her hands. Gazing deep into the murky brown depths within, she speaks.  "It's all so crazy, isn't it? To think all this stuff happened in another timeline. A different ten years. And I was dead for five of them."

A breath, heavy as lead, slips past Cabanela's lips, while he shakes his head. "I can't imagine how it must have felt. Your dying and Jowd's imprisonment. You two are the most important people in my life and I can't bear the thought of you both not being there anymore."

Alma takes small sips of the coffee. The searing liquid is as bitter as her thoughts. How could a man murder her on her birthday and leave her child motherless, with a lifetime of guilt in her place? Bile gushes up from her churning stomach, filling her throat. No use dwelling, she tells herself, best to put it out of her mind. "At least I got my life back." Meeting Cabanela's gaze, she offers him a weak smile. "I should be thankful for that. I've got a second chance."

"That's riiight, baby." Cabanela responds with a smile of his own. "So let's stay positive, shall we? Maybe we should think of something nice to do today, take our mind off things. Just get out there and enjoy life."

With another long sip, Alma dwells in silent contemplation. "Yes. I should think of it as an opportunity to do all the things I wanted to do. Better be realistic though, I don't think we could afford a luxury cruise to Hawaii."

"Probably not, but we can find other things to do. Maybe we can teach Jowd to dance."

"I said realistic."

Their exchanged laugh is accompanied by the heavy falls of Jowd's feet. "Hm? Did someone mention my name just now?"

"Hey, baby. So nice of you to join us. Ahh, the early hours of the morning, nooothin' like it."

"Definitely something easier to appreciate once you've had a cup of coffee," Jowd mutters, making his way into the kitchen. Brandishing his own mug, he joins them at the table. "Well, what a night that was, eh?"

"Thank you for finally telling us," says Alma. "We were so worried."

"I know." Jowd's smile does little to banish the sadness hanging over him. "Sorry for troubling you so much. It does feel better to finally have it out in the open."

"From now on, just tell us whatever you're feelin', baby. We're always here for you, you know that."

"Yes. I appreciate you both being so patient and understanding."

"Now, why don't we have a good looong chat about all the things we're going to do with our new lives?"

Their conversation continues through the long hours ahead, interrupted only by trips for more coffee. The presence of a fourth person approaches, signalled by the patter of tiny feet. Kamila rubs her eyes as she stumbles forwards, followed by a little black kitten. 

"Good morning, sweetheart," says Jowd. "How are you this morning?"

"I want juice. And I'm hungry."

Alma's swallows do little to banish the lump filling her throat. Emotion flows over her in a crashing wave, spurring her to lunge for her daughter and clasp that tiny body to her bosom in a fierce yet gentle embrace.

"Kamila. Oh, Kamila!" Alma's weeping voice gushes forth, flowing with relief. "Oh, my sweet little girl."

Kamila's tiny arms loop around Alma's neck. Hearing loud sniffles, her eyes fill with concern. "Are you crying, Mommy?"

"Huh?" Alma brings her fingers to her cheeks, finding drops of moisture clinging to her skin. 

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm just happy to see you." Alma rubs a thumb over one of Kamila's round, soft cheeks. "I love you so very much, Kamila, you know that, don't you?"

"Mmhmm." Kamila's head bobs, a smile spreading over her beaming face. "And I love you too."

Alma wipes her eyes, momentarily lost in the radiance of her daughter's innocent smile. Keeping her voice steady, she poses a question. "Juice and something to eat, then?"

"Yeah." 

"Here, why don't you come and sit in Daddy's lap?" Jowd pats his leg and Kamila scampers over. Alma's gaze lingers over them, renewed emotion blossoming in her chest, while she goes to fulfil Kamila's request. As she gets the juice and food, a  smile comes to her face, conjured by the thought of how they will live as happily as they can in the future granted to them by a miracle. 

Telling the truth has only partially erased Jowd's troubles. At least Alma and Cabanela now share his burden, ready to lend an ear even as they deal with the issues the truth has brought to them.

Two years have gone by since the reveal. Alma stands outside the prison building, trepidation churning within her. Jowd has been here to see that man several times. The two of them share a deep understanding, having been through so much. Alma knows the man isn't bad anymore and she wouldn't dream of judging Jowd for staying in touch

Sometimes she wonders, does she dare see him? Why hesitate, there's nothing to be afraid of, but no, it's too soon, She isn't ready.

A woman flies out of the building with her head bowed. Alma stumbles back, knocked off balance by the resulting collision. The woman's purse falls to the ground, scattering its contents over the sidewalk. 

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry." Alma kneels, assisting the woman in gathering everything up. "I didn't see you."

"No, it's alright, I'm the one who should be sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." The woman punctuates her sentence with an awkward laugh.

Alma's gaze is drawn to a bundle of scattered cards as she collects them into a neat pile. "Sissel?"

"Hm? Oh, my business cards." The woman takes them from Alma's outstretched hand.

It's no coincidence. This is her, the love of that man's life, the catalyst who drove him to cause Jowd the same pain.

"Thank you." During Alma's momentary daze, Sissel has got everything together and now she stands. "I really am so sorry about that. What a klutz I am."

"Please don't worry about it." Alma rises. "So, er, what is it you do?"

"I play the piano and sometimes I even sing. I get gigs here and there. Haven't managed to make it big just yet, but who knows, maybe one day."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Thanks." Sissel's gaze lingers on her briefly, diverted by a twist of her head toward the prison. "Are you visiting someone?"

"Oh. Oh no, I was just... er... I suppose I was just standing here lost in my thoughts."

"Oh?" Sissel tilts her head, a corner of her lip curving upward. "I see. So, was there something interesting about my name? You sounded pretty surprised."

"I've..." Alma pauses. "I've heard the name before." Meeting this woman came like a bolt out of the blue and now she has no idea what to do next. Go on her merry way or satisfy her curiosity? Settling on the latter, she speaks again. "Um, I hope you don't think this is a strange request, but would you like to talk some more? There's a cafe just down the street we could go to."

"I suppose it's better than standing around in the street waiting for more people to come bumping into us." Sissel laughs. "Sure, why not, it's not like I have anything else to do right now."

Finding an empty table at the café, they promptly order two cups of coffee. Sissel rests her chin in one hand. "Right, you know my name and job, so I suppose it's time I learned yours."

"I'm Alma. It's nice to meet you."

Sissel shakes the offered hand. "Nice to meet you too."

"As for what I do, I work in a library. The one at the courthouse."

"Ooh, I see. A courthouse, then? Are you interested in law?"

"I've read quite a few books and studied it a bit. Law, criminal psychology, that sort of thing. Actually, my husband is a detective"

"Huh." Sissel lowers her gaze.

"Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no, it's just..." Sitting back, Sissel folds her arms. "I'm sure you must be wondering who I was visiting and why they were in prison."

Alma keeps her expression neutral. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's alright." Sissel's eyes wander over the centre of the table where a meny sits. When they snap back to focus on Alma's, a sudden intensity burns within. "He's not a bad man."

Not now, no. Alma finds herself mentally replaying the excruciating details gleaned from Jowd as she has done so many times before. 

"He's really good at computers. They had him on a huge project, but then the police thought he might be a spy. He was brought in for interrogation. Then this fool detective-" Sissel's words are broken off by the arrival of their coffee. She takes a sip before continuing. "He pushed him so hard, even though he was innocent, made him lose hope, and then even worse, that fool left his gun in the room. Can you believe it?"

"It was careless." Alma rests the rim of her mug against her lips, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. "And then your loved one escaped. Another detective chased him down to a park where he took a child hostage."

"Oh, you've read about the case."

"Not quite." Alma's mouth twists. "That man who left his gun? My friend. The second man? My husband." Pinned to the spot by Sissel's stare, she tunes in to the hustle and bustle surrounding them. After a minute or so, the awkward feeling prompts her to speak again. "If you want to tell me exactly what you think of them or me and leave, I understand."

"Huh. What a coincidence."

Not quite, but 'I'm considering meeting your fiancé, who murdered me in another timeline' isn't going to go down terribly well, so Alma keeps her mouth shut on that particular subject. "They both went too far, and they really do feel a lot of remorse."

"I know, they were only doing their jobs. Yomiel's not holding it against them. Anyway, they spoke in his favour during the trial and I think that got him a lesser sentence, so I should be grateful, really." Her eyes flare with a deep sadness as she smiles. "Just a shame things turned out the way they did."

Alma's throat bobs.

Sissel brings the mug to her lips, taking another sip before setting it down with a dull thud. "All I can do is accept it. Yomiel wouldn't want me to be blaming anyone. At least he's alive, and he'll be out eventually."

"You must love him very much."

"Oh, yes, I do." Sissel's face transforms, lighting up with a radiant glow. "Yomiel is everything to me. He's so sweet, so thoughtful and caring. That day, he was so out of it, desperate, panicking. They made him think his life was over."

"I know."

"I just don't want anyone having the wrong idea about him. I visit him every day. It's hard, but I'm doing my best. Things could have turned out so much worse."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault." Leaning forward, Sissel rests her chin in her hands. "So, anything to tell me about yourself? I know you're married to a detective. Anything else?"

"Hm, well, we have a young daughter, and a cat." Realizing her error too late, Alma sends a prayer to the heavens, pleading for Sissel to not inquire about the cat's name. 

"Oh, you have a little girl? How lovely. What's she like?"

Alma stops herself from expressing her relief just in time. "Kamila is so precious. She's quiet as a mouse and she just loves making things, all these toys and contraptions. I never know what she's going to make next."

"She really sounds like a delight. How about your husband, what's he like?"

"Well, he's a wonderful man, though his sense of humour is a little twisted and his personality can rub people the wrong way. Jowd and Cabanela make such a pair together. Ah, Cabanela's the other guy. He's like a part of our family too."

"The ruthless interrogator?"

"He was trying too hard." Alma shakes her head. "He had just gotten admitted to the Special Investigation Unit and thought he would try to impress them."

"By interrogating an innocent man?" Sissel's lip curls as she lets out a derisive snort. "Ah, sorry, I-"

"Oh, no, no, be as honest as you like. Still, I wouldn't call him ruthless. I don't know what image you have of him, but if you saw the real Cabanela, that image would be quickly shattered. He's really unique, in a sense. He's easygoing, laid back, always dancing."

"Dancing?" One of Sissel's slender eyebrows shoots upwards.

"You have to see it to believe it. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm trying to defend them. I just want you to know they aren't necessarily the ruthless men you might think they are."

Sissel flashes a reassuring smile at her. "Really, it's okay. I get it." Draining the last of her coffee, she sets down the mug and stares into it, a cloud passing over her eyes. "I'm glad. It doesn't seem like you're judging my fiancé."

"No, I'm really not."

"Some of our friends didn't want anything to do with him anymore, or me when I defended him. They didn't even try to understand why he took that child hostage. There must have been so many people judging him and thinking he was a terrible person when it was in the news."

"I'm so sorry to hear it."

"Oh, well. I guess I learned who my real friends were at least."

"You have people you can still talk to, don't you? I'm sure it must be hard."

"I have some friends left. Anyway, it's enough that Yomiel is alive. I hate having to say goodbye but I know he'll be out one day. He was so badly injured back then." Sissel shudders. "I could have lost him. I don't know what I would do without him."

Alma averts her gaze, pushing back the lump in her throat. "Well, that's good that you have some support then." Checking the time on her watch, she adds. "Is that the time already?"

"I guess you should be going then? I'd better get off too, get some shopping done on my way home."

Outside the cafe, Sissel takes a card from her purse and holds it out to Alma. "Here you go. If you want to talk or meet up again, here's my number."

"Really? I almost thought you might not be interested."

"Well, I don't see any reason not to." Sissel tilts her head. "I almost feel like us meeting might not have been a total coincidence."

"Hmm. You know what, I don't think it was either."

"It was very nice to meet you. Well, then, hope to see you another time." Sissel walks away with a wave. Alma watches her blend into the distant crowd with a smile, slipping the card into her own purse.

At a later date, Alma gets in touch with Sissel. Their next meeting is at a restaurant where Sissel is performing. Alma is impressed by how well she can play the piano and sing. Their meetings continue well beyond that and they talk about all sorts of things, the subject of their loved ones in particular.

Five years past the meteorite's fall, Alma's birthday rolls around. Jowd announces that he's made plans for dinner, and even bought crafts to keep Kamila occupied. "If we can try and get off work early, that would be good too. Sissel's going to be around, so Kamila won't be lonely either. I want this day to be different."

"I understand." Alma doesn't feel ready to see the contraption in action either. They go to work as usual and come home with Cabanela, discovering Kamila deeply absorbed in craftwork under Sissel's watchful gaze. The evening is spent dining at Alma's favourite restaurant and they all have a wonderful time. When it's all over, Jowd and Alma fall asleep in their bed, snug in each other's embraces.

The years fly by. Alma enjoys her life with considerable vigor as does Cabanela. They remain conscious of how precious their time is, never forgetting for a single moment. Alma continues meeting Sissel and even makes a new friend in the Justice Minister's wife, who she introduces to Sissel. It doesn't take long before Emma is inspired to write a romance novel involving a jailbird. Seeing how well they get along, Alma is glad to have brought another person into Sissel's life. It's hard for Sissel, being separated from her loved one by prison walls, and Alma will do whatever she can to ease Sissel's pain, even if it's just a little bit.

Alma's birthday comes round, ten years after that fateful day. Coming home from work, Alma is the first to go inside. Greeted with a dark room, she reaches for the light switch only to freeze. Kamila has finally brought the contraption into existence, hasn't she? Alma wouldn't dream of spoiling her daughter's birthday surprise. Time to see it in action. 

"Here we go." Steeling herself, Alma flips the switch and light floods the room. The contraption plays out before her eyes. Cupid's arrow takes flight, its fiery tip striking the party poppers. Loud pops fill the air as streamers fly. She covers her mouth. Jowd's stories couldn't have prepared her for this. It's incredible what Kamila was capable of even five years ago.

Kamila bursts out of the cupboard and runs over to Alma with the kitten in hot pursuit. "Did I surprise you, Mom?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, wow. You really made that yourself?"

"Of course!" Kamila beams, throwing her arms around Alma's waist. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Embracing her daughter, Alma strokes her hair. "Thank you, Kamila. That was a lovely surprise." Behind her, the door opens. Jowd's puzzled expression quickly fades, a knowing smile taking its place.

Some time later, Alma gets a call from Sissel. Joining her husband on the sofa, she clears her throat. "Sissel's fiancé, er, Yomiel is out of prison."

"Yes, he was released a couple of days ago."

"I see." Alma's head tilts.

"Is there something on your mind?"

"I used to go to the prison and think about seeing him myself. Then I met Sissel and she told me all about him instead. If I keep seeing her, I might bump into him at some point."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose that's a possibility. Is it a problem?"

"The thing is, if I meet him for the first time, I want it to be with you, Jowd. I think I'm ready."

"Alright, I'll arrange something."

The next day, Jowd and Alma head to a bar that evening. They quickly spot Yomiel sitting alone in the far corner. It was decided that bringing his fiancée was too risky.

"Hello, Yomiel."

Yomiel stands up, responding with a curt nod. "Hello, Detective. It's good to see you."

"Yes, it's good to see you too. How's life treating you out of prison?"

"It's not easy, but I've got help." Yomiel turns his head slightly. "And you are..."

"Ah, yes, I do believe you already know my wife, don't you?"

"Uh..."

Ever since they came up to him, Alma has been lost in a trance, her thoughts tumbling around in a frantic whirlwind. Thick mud clogs her throat. Swallowing, she wipes her palms over her skirt before thrusting out a hand. "I'm Alma. It's nice to meet you."

Her words cut like a blade through the tension holding Yomiel in place. Shaking her hand, he responds, "Nice to meet you too. I'm Yomiel."

"So, I finally got to meet the man himself," Alma says, as they sit down. Her repeated swallows do little to moisten her mouth. It's really him, that man who took her life and hurt her family, but he isn't that man anymore. That twisted creature who sought to hurt and even kill others is long gone. "I've heard a lot about you from Jowd, and Sissel. I mean, your fiancée. Not the cat."

"I see."

"Well, I suppose I should get drinks for us. Is that okay with you, Alma?" 

Seeing a hint of concern in Jowd's eyes, Alma responds with a smile. "Of course it is. A glass of white wine for me, please. Would you mind giving us a few minutes to speak alone?"

"Sure." Jowd's hand lingers on her shoulder before he walks away.

"You know everything, don't you." A statement, not a question.

"I do. Jowd told me about all of it. I know what you went through."

"Right." Yomiel clears his throat. "I really am so sorry for what I did to you and to everybody else. What I did was completely inexcusable."

Alma studies her interlaced fingers as they lay in her lap. "I know you're not that person anymore. What you went through was hell, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I was consumed by loneliness, by the desire for revenge. It transformed me. I could no longer see people for who they were. You and your little girl? Just tools for causing Jowd pain." Yomiel releases his breath in a soft whoosh. "I don't expect you to forgive me. If you want to tell me you hate me, well, I know I deserve it."

The laughter and animated chatter coming from the other tables provide such a sharp contrast to their serious conversation. While Alma's gaze roams over the other customers, she speaks. "I might have despised you for a while. The truth made me sick. I was hurt and angry, I tried to understand why you would have done it, and then I met your fiancée."

"You've been a good friend to Sissel. I was surprised to hear she had become friends with you."

Alma turns her full attention back to Yomiel. "I didn't seek her out on purpose. We bumped into each other outside the prison and I learned her name. I wanted to get to know her, maybe even hear more about you. I wasn't using her or anything. She's a fantastic woman and I can see why you love her so much."

"Yes, I really do."

"You're lucky to have each other. I hope you'll have a happy future together."

"Thank you."

"Anyway." Alma rests her chin in one hand. "I wanted to meet you in person. I think... I wanted to dispel that image of a murderous monster. To see you for the person you are now."

Yomiel's cheek twitches, his gaze remaining level with hers.

"I know you're not that monster anymore and you will never hurt my family again. I don't bear a grudge against you and I don't hate you either."

"I see." Yomiel bows his head, the words oozing from his lips like thick syrup. "You really are a very kind woman."

Amidst the conversation's lull, the rowdy noises filling the pub become painstakingly clear. "Well then, might as well get Jowd back over here." Alma seeks out Jowd, signalling to him with a wave.

Jowd joins them, setting down the drinks. "Well then, how did it go?"

"We had a pleasant conversation. I told him I have no hard feelings."

"That's good to hear. You were a bit nervous, weren't you, Yomiel?"

"Yes." Yomiel's head moves in an almost imperceptible nod. "I'm not sure I deserve so much kindness." Shifting his gaze to Alma, he continues. "I'm so grateful that you were there for Sissel also. My imprisonment was hard on her but now it's all over and we can look forward to our future together." 

"Well then." Jowd raises his glass. "Here's to us all not being dead or in prison."

With a roll of her eyes, Alma lifts her glass as does Yomiel, their glasses meeting in midair with a soft clink. They engage in conversation, the words falling from their lips ever so casually. Any resulting moments of discomfort are entirely on Jowd. Before they realise it, the glasses are empty and it's time to go. Bidding farewell, they set off back to their respective homes.

"Well, how did that feel?" Jowd asks on the way home.

"It was alright." Alma is relaxed, her body filling the contours of the car seat. "I was so nervous about meeting him but in the end, it all went fine. I can finally let go of all those feelings. It's like a huge weight off my mind."

"Is that so? I'm glad. The ten years are all behind us at last."

"Yeah."

Pulling the car into the driveway of their home, Jowd cuts the engine. Alma leaves the car and goes round to meet Jowd. Snaking her arms around his waist, she sinks against his chest, clasped in his strong embrace.

"I really do love you so much." Alma turns her head up.

Jowd kisses her on the lips. "And I love you too."

As they approach their front door, it swings open, revealing their smiling daughter. Sissel weaves around her legs, mewing. "Welcome back, Mom, Dad." With those words, Kamila steps aside, allowing them to enter together.

[theladyofdeath]

A S H E S { 2 }

ACOTAR fanfiction, Cassian x Nesta. Modern AU, in Velaris.

Summary: Cassian gets injured in battle and the scars are permanent, leaving him forced to go home to Velaris. Although he’s happy to be home with his family and friends, being back proves to be far more difficult than he expected.

A/N: A short, sweet chapter before we get to the...less short, sweet chapters. Enjoy. :)

Fanfic Masterlist

Cassian woke up just before noon with a pounding headache and feeling nauseous as hell.

He sat up, slowly, groaning all the while.

Walking wasn’t any easier.

He stumbled to the washroom and pushed the door open, barely making it a step before realizing the shower was running, the mirror foggy, the air humid.

“I’ve got to piss,” he mumbled.

When Azriel didn’t answer, he figured it was fine.

But before he could make it to the toilet, the shower curtain opened and a head poked out.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re going to pull out your dick, you could at least wait for me to finish.”

Cassian froze. “What are you doing here? Shit, is Az in there?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “No, idiot. He spent all night fucking my sister. And, considering the state you were in last night, I wasn’t going to leave you alone. Now, you may go pee outside or you may wait.”

Cassian did no such thing.

He unzipped his jeans and before he could pull himself out, Nesta scoffed and closed the shower curtain.

She didn’t protest as he finished his business, fell to his knees, and puked in the toilet bowl.

Halfway through, the shower turned off and his shoulder-length hair was quickly being pulled off of his face.

After the heaving stopped, he suddenly realized he was shirtless, and the full realization of who stood behind him had his body tensing.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, softer than most people realized she could be. She had seen. She must have taken off his sweatshirt...“Come on. Get in the shower.”

She started the water and Cassian looked over his shoulder. Nesta was wrapped in a lavender towel, her long golden-brown hair hanging, soaked, down her back.

And he remembered.

Glimpses of the night before flooded through his mind, sending his face falling into his hands with a curse. “Nes-”

“Don’t apologize, because I know you’re going to,” she said. “Pants off. Shower. I’m making you food and finding you ibuprofen. I think I have some in my purse.”

She was out the door before Cassian could protest.

He fumbled with his jeans before stepping into the shower, the warm water helping the pounding in his head fade, just a little bit.

And then he remembered yet another fact from the night before.

He had kissed her, had wanted more.

Cassian rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, letting the water pour over him.

A fool.

He had made an ass of himself.

The minute he could gain the tiniest ounce of energy, Cassian turned the water off and stepped out, wrapping a lavender towel around his waist that he had no doubt was Elain’s work and not Azriel’s.

Nesta was in the kitchen, wearing an old Velaris High School hoodie and a pair of leggings. She was cutting up a watermelon to add to her plate of apple slices and crackers.

“Isn’t that my sweatshirt?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

She didn’t turn around as she said, “You gave it to me, before you left.”

“And you kept it?” he asked, quietly.

She didn’t answer.

Cassian sighed when he realized he wasn’t going to get anything else. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I was a prick. I kissed you-” he stopped, wincing from the memory. “I drank too much and I completely lost control. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said.

Pity.

There was almost pity in her voice.

“Who the hell are you?”

Nesta slowly put down the knife she was cutting with and turned to face him, brows raised. “Excuse me?”

“The old Nesta would have chewed my ass out by now,” he said, arms crossed. “You’re letting me off the hook when I don’t deserve to be. Why?”

He watched her eyes glance from his scars, the burns, then back to his eyes, and down to the floor.

“Don’t treat me differently,” he said, not unkindly. “I don’t...want you to.”

“You were hot, so I took off your sweatshirt,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze. “I didn’t realize….” she shook her head, then tried a different approach. “I kept your sweatshirt all these years because I was afraid you wouldn’t come back. And I missed you. And I wanted to remember you. You were my best friend, Cass. No one has ever meant as much to me as you have.”

Cassian didn’t say a word.

“I knew there was an attack, knew as much as the others...but, I didn’t realize how bad…”

Until I saw.

“You’re right. You were an ass last night. I wanted to cut off your balls and slap you across the face with them. You embarrassed yourself, and your breath smelled like shit.” She spoke with a venom that Cassian knew he deserved, even when she said, “but I understood why you needed a few hours to forget. And if someone has to clean up your shit, it should be me.”

You were my best friend, Cass.

Silence passed, and Cassian felt worse than he had when he woke up, hungover.

“I kissed you,” he said, again. She didn’t show any sign that she’d heard, but he knew she had. “I have pictured myself kissing you a million times, and that was not how I imagined it, ever.”

She looked at him, then. No sign that she felt a thing from the words. “A million times?”

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said, again, pushing himself off the doorframe. “By the way, you look good in my shirt.”

Her cheeks turned pink as he turned his back to her and padded down the hallway.

~~

Nesta had only left him once, for twenty minutes, that morning. She had gone to her house, to get a change of clothes.

His sweatshirt.

She had worn his sweatshirt countless times throughout the years. There were holes in the wrists, the hood was nearly ready to fall off.

But she had kept it.

It was all she had that was his.

When she wore it, she felt like he hadn’t been so far away.

She watched him eat, watched him pick at the food that he wasn’t in the mood to eat. But, he ate it anyway, fully aware that if he didn’t she would kick his ass.

Which she would have.

She wasn’t mad about the night before, not even a little bit. She understood, as much as she could, anyway. She didn’t think she could ever fully understand. None of them could.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he asked, swallowing a square of watermelon.

She shrugged, picking at her nails. “I called out, found a sub. Told them I was sick.”

His lips quirked upward. “Liar.”

She shrugged, again, but said nothing more.

“Let’s go out.”

Nesta raised a brow. “Out?”

He stretched out his arms. “Yeah. Out.”

“Out where?”

He shrugged. “Wherever you’ll take me, while you’ve got the day off.”

“Fine,” she said.

She debated on bringing him to a club, where the strobe lights were bright and the music was loud.

But, half an hour later, she had mercy on him.

Cassian blinked, as they stood on the sidewalk only a mile from Azriel’s apartment. “We’re at the grocery store.”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“I was thinking, like, a walk along the Sidra, or through the hills, or….I don’t know, somewhere-”

“You have no food,” she said. “You have no shampoo or soap or, well, anything for that matter. Azriel spends most of his time at Elain’s, and you’ll have the place to yourself quite a bit. So, yes, here we are.”

Without another word, she strode inside and, after a mumble of something Nesta couldn’t quite hear but didn’t imagine was particularly kind, he followed.

“What do you like to eat?” She asked, taking a cart before taking to the produce aisle. “Still picky?”

Cassian chuckled. “No. There were times I didn’t have the luxury of being picky. Here.” He picked up two tomatoes and placed them in the cart.

Nesta arched a brow, following him through the aisle. “You eat tomatoes now?”

“No,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder at her as he spoke. “But I like to cook with tomatoes.”

Nesta barked a laugh. “When did you learn how to cook? Last thing I remember you cooking is a bowl of cereal.”

Cassian’s broad shoulders shook with laughter. “You’d be surprised what I’ve learned in the last ten years, Nesta Archeron.”

“But cooking?” she asked, still in shock. Cassian used to hate even the thought of cooking. Why cook when you can go buy hot food, already made for you? His famous motto.

He turned around and placed a bunch of asparagus into the cart, next to his tomatoes. He looked to Nesta and grinned. “Fine. I’m making you dinner tonight.”

Nesta crossed her arms. “Are you? I’m pretty hard to please.”

“Challenge accepted,” he laughed.

In the end, their cart was overflowing. He got enough food to fill the fridge, got soap and conditioner for the shower, and a bottle of wine for his fancy dinner that he promised.

After lugging all his bags back to Azriel’s apartment, Cassian refused to let Nesta inside.

“Go home, put on something nice, and be back here at eight,” he said.

She lifted a brow. “I can help-”

“Go,” Cassian laughed, shaking his head. “Let someone else be in control for once.”

She scowled, but no longer protested.

Nesta could feel the weight of his grin as she turned to walk away, rounded the corner, and went home.

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober Day 2 : Kink Cafe - Part 1

Kinktober Day 2 Prompts: Collars (worn in public) || Forced servitude || Outdoor scenes Fandom: [None] Original Tags: Collars, public scene, servitude, Dom/sub play, femboys,  Pairing:[Mentioned: Orc(m)/Elf(m), Minotaur(m)/Orc(f), Orc(m)/Human(f), Minotaur(m)/Human(f)] Races: Elves, Orcs, Minotaurs, and Humans

Running a kink event, especially one of this size, required a near exhausting amount of effort. The time it takes to set up, making sure everything was just right for the ongoing scene, involving the right people, it was all so much work. The work was worth it in the end when a large event like this came together. 

The outdoor kink cafe had been in the works for months. First a location was chosen. As it had to be on private property since the event would be clothing optional and span a weekend. In the end they found renting a B&B during its off season provided them with the space and privacy needed. The inn was closed to the public for the weekend to ensure no outsiders stumbled upon something they were not prepared to see. 

The rooms were rented to those participating in and organizing the event, while the overflow of participants stayed in the nearest hotels to the property. The outdoor space was set up to resemble a cafe. Complete with tables, chairs, umbrellas, and a serving station. It was important to create as immersive of an environment as possible for the guests. 

As the event started the subs were outfitted with their server gear. Collars with tags providing basic information were fitted around their necks. This would give the guests the ability to quickly check which subs were available for public and private use, and which were just participating as servers and were to be left mostly untouched. Each server had a small apron with a pocket that barely covered their bodies, underneath they were nude. The only other adornments were jewelry to add decorative flair. As both male and female subs were acting as servers the outfit was left simple to accommodate a variety of shapes and sizes. 

Soon the outdoor area was a bustle of activity with guests sitting at the tables or enjoying the lounge chairs while the servers brought them food and drink. A large minotaur was enjoying some treats while trying to coax a couple of servers into his lap insisting they needed to take a break. The busty orc that was serving him took him up on that offer as the human hurried to go get him another drink so that she could join in on the fun. 

A beautiful elf with androgenous features carried a tray to a table where a couple of orcs and a minotaur sat. There was already a human server under the table servicing one of the orcs. As she was otherwise occupied Alinar realized that the table would require a new server temporarily. Some of the subs were assigned specific tables either at their own request or at the request of their owner. While others, like Alinar, roamed freely between tables assisting anyone that desired it. 

Zar glanced over at his companion, who was clearly distracted by the lovely human under the table. “You plan on sharing her Khurg?” The darker skinned orc huffed at his companion and shook his head. 

“Not any time soon, getcher own.” Khurg grunted as the woman who’s mouth he currently occupied decided to try and deep throat him. His attention returned to her rather quickly as the conversation at the table continued without him.

Zar laughed heartily as the new server approached. “Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.” Setting down the menu Zar looked the elf up and down. From this angle determining gender was impossible and the elf was so lovely Zar found himself not really caring. “How about you bring me and my friends something refreshing and perhaps I can tempt you to stay?” He smiled at Alinar. “Assuming you consent of course.”

Alinar bowed to the orc and then his companions. “I know just the thing that will quench your thirst and energize you.” Turning it was clear that Alinar was male, though he seemed far more female otherwise. His voice, his mannerisms, the jewelry he had chosen were all quite feminine, he just happened to not actually be female. The sway of his surprisingly curvy hips had the table staring as he moved to the serving station. 

“Now that confuses my boner.” Zar admitted while his friends laughed. “Can it Briam, you have questionable taste as it is,  you can’t judge.” 

The minotaur raised his hands in supplication. “I never said I didn’t, I just took you to be straight with no options otherwise.” 

“Yeah well, I have never seen an elf so pretty and not be a woman, so maybe I am not as straight as I thought.” Zar did not seem distressed by this discovery. His eyes lingering on Alinar as their drinks were made and a light platter of food prepared. “Hell that is why we came here, to experience something new.” He shrugged turning back to Briam. 

“I think it is great you are willing to experiment. I am hoping to find a willing elf or human myself. My size tends to scare away the smaller individuals, but I find their delicate forms desirable to the point of distraction.” Briam paused as Alinar returned with their drinks and food. 

Setting the glasses in front of the men and the plate of fruit and pastries in the middle. Smiling at the minotaur Alinar gestured to the serving station where a rather short but plump human stood filling a trey. “She is quite adventurous if you can catch her eye. I could bring her over if you desire to meet her. Like myself she has no owner and has volunteered for any and all desired services.” 

Briam turned to see the human walking a tray to a nearby table, her eyes were bright as she smiled and laughed with the guests. The apron doing very little to cover  her generous curves. The bounce in her step, the curve of her hips, and that sweet smile were too much to resist. Briam nodded. “I would very much enjoy meeting her.” Alinar bowed, his long ears flicking delicately as he did, a mischievous smile on his face as her turned from the table and walked towards the other server. 

Zar and Briam watched as a short conversation occurred between the two servers. “Are you going to stay here or take her up to your room?” Zar just had to ask. Considering the look on Briam’s face, it was clear the bull had not thought that far ahead. “Look around, you don’t have to if you want to try something different. Others are clearly enjoying being able to indulge in public, why shouldn’t we?”

Briam smiled at his companion. “You make a good point my friend. I see no reason to move. I like the fresh air, and we did just get our food and drink. It would be a shame to leave so soon.”

Alinar returned with the human in tow. “Gentlemen this is Dea, and she would be eager to assist any of you with whatever you need.” The elf pushed the cute plump human closer to the minotaur and watched with a gentle smile as she was pulled into his lap. He was clearly being careful with her, and Alinar was relieved to see that she would receive gentle treatment to start. Turning to the orc that had complimented him Alinar bowed. “Will you be requiring anything else of me?”

Zar looked thoughtful, considering his options. He had never been sexually attracted to another male before, however this elf was nothing like the men he spent most of his time with. Alinar was beautiful in the same ways he found women beautiful. The delicate features, the curve of his hips, the roundness of his bottom. They all gave Zar pause. In the end he decided that the attraction was strong enough that gender simply did not matter this time. 

“Yes, I would like for you to join me, are you available?” Zar rubbed his thigh, indicating where he would like Alinar to sit should he agree. 

“I am free, and as this table has drinks and food. You can enjoy the other offerings of the cafe now.” Seating himself in Zars lap and crossing one shapely leg over the other Alinar leaned into the muscular chest of the orc. “Everything is negotiable sir, I am eager to provide you with whatever your heart desires.”

Zar stiffened at first, then warmed to the feeling of the rather shapely ass in his lap. The elf was a treat, that was certain. He felt somehow more powerful, having another male act so eagerly submissive to him. Zar’s hand rested on Alinar’s thigh. “Let’s start slow, I want us both to enjoy this experience.”

[Authors Note: This one got away from me and I spent so much time on the premise that I didn’t get to the full on sex scenes. I plan to provide a part two later in the month with prompts that will fit these various couples. This one may end up with multiple parts, but as of now only the second part is being planned.]

[welcometophu]

Into the Split: Revolution 2

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Revolution 2

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Monday dawns with perfect spring weather. It’s warm enough that Nikolai doesn’t need more than a t-shirt, and as he and Seth walk to Teas Please, they see several PHU students in shorts, sundresses, and sandals. The combination of Spring Festival Week and the good weather lends an air of celebration to campus and the surrounding homes. Towels are spread on lawns, music plays loudly, and people are everywhere outside, tossing frisbees and footballs, or basking in the sun while studying.

Nobody cares that Nikolai and Seth walk hand in hand down the street. Some kids wave cheerfully, and one apologizes after diving in front of them to capture an errant frisbee.

“I think I’ll miss this place when we go,” Seth says quietly as their near miss darts off again, flinging the frisbee at his friend. “Not enough that I want to stay, but there’s something about this—”

“It’s innocent,” Nikolai agrees. “Freeing. It’s like it’s easy to live here.”

“That’s it, yes.” Seth’s thumb slides along the edge of Nikolai’s hand. “We can go get food. We don’t have to scramble for a place to sleep. If we stayed longer we’d have to work somehow, I’m sure, but right now, we’re just able to enjoy everything. I’m going to miss that part.”

Nikolai grabs the door to Teas Please when they get there, pulling it open for Seth to go through first. Nate spots them and waves, calling out, “I’ve got them,” as the hostess at the front pulls two menus from a stack.

“I guess Nate will be with you shortly,” she says with a small smile, handing them the menus while they wait.

Seth holds the menus as they follow Nate into the back of the restaurant. A group is already at the u-shaped table, but Cass sits at a table for two next to it, and the table next to her is empty. She looks up as they approach and sighs heavily, standing up to help squeeze the two smaller tables together into one space.

“I’ve got lunch break coming up,” Nate says. “Give me your order and I’ll get everything in at once and bring it out, or—” He breaks off, frowning as he leans in close to Cass. “Hey. Want a Mallory special?”

She rolls her eyes and sits back, arms crossed over her chest. “Whatever. It was good before.”

Nate hesitates a moment, then nods. “Okay, fine,” he says before he walks away.

Nikolai has the chair opposite Cass, with Seth next to him. She’s piled a light sweater and purse on the bench next to her, effectively making it so no one could get close. “Are you okay with us sitting here?” he asks.

She looks at the ceiling, shakes her head. “No. But it’s fine. I knew when I came here that I’d probably end up with half my sorority or some other random group of people I know coming in eventually.”

“Then why did you come?” Seth looks for a moment like he’s going to say something else, but his expression gentles instead.

Cass shrugs. “Nate’s here. The food’s decent. I don’t have most of my classes this week because the professors know no one’s going to show up anyway, except for this one stupid exam I have on Thursday. That professor’s a total dick; he made the exam this week just because it’s the festival and he knows people will be out drinking on Wednesday.” She tilts her head to look at them more directly. “That’s Election Day.”

None of that makes sense, but Nikolai nods like it does.

“Would it help if I—” Seth cuts off, his hand in the air when Cass glares at him.

“Don’t,” she says curtly. “I don’t need any kind of Talent induced high, or the equivalent of an emotional back rub. My emotions are just fine the way they are and I will deal with them, thank you very much.”

“Noted,” Seth says, his hand falling back to the table.

It occurs to Nikolai that Nate never asked him and Seth what they wanted to eat. He supposes they’re getting a Mallory special as well.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seth offers. He doesn’t shrink away when Cass glares at him, just watches her with the same quiet consideration he’s given Nikolai his whole life.

Cass blinks first. She picks up the napkin wrapped around silverware and carefully unwraps the fork and knife. She lays them on the table, flattening out the napkin before putting it on her lap. “I’m fine.”

Even Nikolai can tell she’s lying. “You don’t sound it.”

“This semester—this school year, really—has been… a lot,” Cass says slowly, her voice tight and words careful. “This,” she gestures at Nikolai and Seth, “is just the end of several months’ worth of too much to deal with.”

“And you’re the kind of person who would rather bottle it up than rely on anyone else,” Seth says. When she tries to skewer him with a glare again, he just spreads his hands palm down on the table. “It’s an observation, not a judgment. You have your reasons, and given that I don’t know what they are, I can’t say whether this is a good or a bad thing. But you seem pretty miserable just from body language alone. I’d know even if I couldn’t feel it radiating off of you. Not that I’m listening on purpose. I can’t help it—you’re doing the emotional equivalent of empathic screaming right now. I’m kind of surprised that Heather hasn’t tried to hold you down and smother you in happy. She seems kind of like the type who’d do that.”

“Heather isn’t very good with negative emotions.” Cass has a small smile at that. “She likes being our social director, because it means she gets to work hard at making people happy. On the other hand, she’s also very easy to fool. A thin layer of pleasure over everything else and she doesn’t try to dig any deeper than that. I love Dax. I love sex with Dax. And I generally have fun at house events. Just the Dax parts are enough to keep her from looking for more.”

Her head tilts as she considers him more closely. “Is it because you haven’t seen me as much with Dax, or because you don’t know us as well? Or am I slipping?”

Seth nudges his glasses up his nose. “I think it’s the first. I’m just getting my first impressions of you now, and I don’t have that formed opinion of you as a part of you-and-Dax. If you asked me, I’d say your closest friends are… hm.” He leans back in his chair, tapping his chin with one finger. “You rely on Dax, but that’s a comfort thing. Like he’s that blanket you take everywhere. And he kinds of treats you the same way. Which isn’t a bad thing, but it’s like you both take each other for granted the way people who’ve been together forever do. Then there’s Mac and Carolyn and you have this weird love/hate thing going with them. You’re like that with all your sorority sisters, but you’re afraid of Heather, which is why I know you don’t like Empaths.”

“Or Telepaths,” Cass admits, “but I’ve only ever met one person who could really get inside my head like that.”

Nikolai’s surprised by that statement. It’s a more common Talent than that. “You may not know you’ve met them. Most Telepaths are more instinctive, like Empaths,” Nikolai says.

Cass’s expression twists into something vaguely constipated. “Lovely.”

“Then there’s Nate,” Seth continues as if they hadn’t interrupted him. “You have this really weird level of comfort with him, but it’s like you’re afraid of him at the same time, and other times you look at him like you have no idea what he’s even doing there. But you trust him and I think you hate yourself a little bit for that.”

“Cass hates herself for trusting someone?” Nate nudges her sweater and purse out of the way so he can drop into the empty spot on the bench next to her. He pushes a plate in front of her, piled high with salad and a thinly toasted sandwich cut into four wedges decorating the rim interspersed with what look like homemade thick-cut potato chips. “One Mallory special. Kim’s bringing out a shared meal for the two of you,” he tells Nikolai and Seth.

He keeps his own plate in front of him, with a three tiered sandwich made of thick, dark bread. Nikolai can smell the peanut butter, and the strong scent of smoke and maple. “What is that?”

“Bacon peanut butter club,” Nate says. “Take a peanut butter sandwich, then slather the top of it with mayo and some cranberry sauce, add lettuce and bacon and a third slice of bread, and there you go. It’s disturbingly good.”

“Ew,” Cass says, but she still holds out one small triangle of her toasted sandwich and accepts a quarter of Nate’s sandwich in return.

A girl who must be Kim arrives with one of the three-tiered contraptions, but instead of small bites on each plate, each one is overflowing, and she carries another plate in her hand. “Mallory apparently thinks you’re starving,” she says as she sets it between Nikolai and Seth. “I hope you’re in the mood for some citrus. You’ve got a carrot and leek non-dairy creamed soup with fresh lemon and ginger, and a spring salad with candied orange peel and walnuts. The sandwich is a chicken and brie panini with apple slices; I’ve had that one and it’s really good and I wish we’d put it on the menu. And for dessert, a lemon berry crêpe with a dark chocolate drizzle.”

Kim straightens up, glancing at the booth next to them where the patrons are filing out in a burst of noise. She lowers her voice, nods at it. “It’ll take me five to get it cleaned up, okay?”

Nate grins. “You know us so well. I don’t think we’re expecting anyone else but I wasn’t actually expecting anyone at all in the first place, which is how it works. If that booth’s emptying out, I figure there are more people incoming.”

Cass rolls her eyes but doesn’t speak, her mouth full of Nate’s peanut butter club sandwich.

As soon as Kim finishes cleaning the table, Nate nudges Cass, and they all pick up their things to move into the booth. There’s plenty of room to spread out, and Cass slides all the way down to the end, leaving space between her and Nate.

“So,” Nate asks. “Who do you hate yourself for trusting?”

Cass holds out another of her toasted sandwich triangles, and Nate silently passes her another quarter of his club sandwich in return. “You, obviously,” she says, before taking a bite. “I don’t trust people easily.”

“But you do trust me,” Nates says. One hand on his heart, he smiles at her. “I’m honored.”

“I’m going to throw chips at you soon.” Cass brandishes her piece of sandwich, and Nate laughs.

He stops mid-motion as he turns away, then lifts a hand, waving as he slides further down the bench and closer to Cass. He makes enough room for Mac to slide in, but Carolyn lingers at the end to kiss Serina.

“I’ll come by later or if you’re still here when my shift ends we can, I don’t know, go somewhere else then,” Serina says. She leans up on her toes and kisses Carolyn’s forehead. “Eat some real food. You’ve been buried in the library so much you’re going to turn into a book.”

“I’ve been eating,” Carolyn protests. “I swear I have, but Pawel—” She glances at Mac. “We should bring home something for Pawel. He’s—”

“He ate an apple at breakfast,” Seth comments.

Nikolai thinks that was his whole breakfast. Sort of. “I saw him eating a bowl of cereal a while after that. He’s drinking a lot of coffee. And he eats granola bars. If you put one next to him, it’s gone when you come back. What he’s not doing is sleeping.”

“I tried to stop in and he threw me out and told me you were here,” Mac grumbles. “I bumped into Carolyn on the way over. He needs to take care of himself. He’s no good if he’s so worn out he passes out.”

“I think he’s too grouchy to let go,” Seth says.

“Like a toddler,” Mac insists. “He’s like a toddler who doesn’t want to miss anything and won’t nap.”

Serina gently pushes Carolyn onto the bench. “I have to go work.” She wiggles her fingers at Nate. “See you when your break is over,” she calls out to him, and he lifts a hand to wave back.

Nikolai watches Cass as Mac and Carolyn settle in. She doesn’t tell them to leave, but she doesn’t seem welcoming either, focusing instead on her salad and her remaining toasted sandwich triangles. Mac reaches past Nate to steal a chip from Cass’s plate. Carolyn pulls a laptop out of her bag and opens it up along with a dark purple notebook.

“I have information,” Carolyn says. She looks at the others, frowning slightly. “Not that we came here to meet. We need to order food. But since some of us are together, I thought I could catch you up.”

“Pawel is there every second of the day, but he’s not actually telling us anything. So yes, please, talk to us.” Seth makes a go on motion. “Have you made any progress on the Ritual?”

“Pawel’s still looking into it, but I don’t think the original ritual can be reversed. Not as it was.” Carolyn’s fingers move quickly over her keyboard, then slow as she finds what she’s looking for. “According to what we’ve learned, I think that if we tried to reverse what was done, we might destroy the Split completely, but that could backfire and either destroy all the Shadows—effectively committing genocide against an entire Lineage of Talented humans—or it might end up encouraging another global Emergence, and consume more Talents with vestigial Shadowwalker blood while also pushing them into the Dreamscape. If we close our world, that means we are effectively destroying lives and sending them to other worlds to wreak havoc.”

“That’s not an ideal solution,” Cass mutters dryly.

“Exactly,” Mac replies. She steals another chip, easily dodging as Cass swats at her hand. “Which is why reversing the Ritual is off the table for now. But Pawel’s desperately researching a different Ritual and making plans that don’t involve sleep.”

Carolyn scrolls through her document, frowning as she reads something on the screen in front of her.

“I’m half afraid to ask, but what kind of Ritual is he considering that won’t end up with us all turning into our inner Shadowwalker and succumbing to the dark side?” Cass asks sharply.

“We need a place—or rather several places—where the liminal spaces between reality and the Dreamscape are weak.” Carolyn touches her screen as she reads from it. “The idea is to create a Ritual that transcends this one world. If we have the worlds in contact when we work against the Split, that should protect us. Them.” She motions as if to indicate unseen Shadowwalkers.

Which is exactly what Nikolai had thought they’d been talking about, only this seems a bit more  specific. “What about the Benford house?” Nikolai asks. “The Berman place here. We could feel it in our world, before it was cleansed, and here it hasn’t been touched.”

“Would it end up with you dragging us all into the Dreamscape?” Cass asks. Nate gives her a confused look, and Cass points at Carolyn. “When she brought that Shadowwalker back. She dragged everyone into the Dreamscape with her somehow.”

“That was Mattie’s crossover, and has nothing to do with this,” Carolyn replies. She closes her laptop with a soft thunk and crosses her hands on top of it. “It was a unique situation that I think was caused by her soul being so close to the reality and my own Talent still being in the process of Emerging. Not to mention Del’s presence and our history.”

“I think that if you’re looking for somewhere that blurs the line, that’s probably a good place.” Mac’s words nudge the conversation away from Cass and Carolyn glaring at each other. “You think it’s a liminal space?”

“It’s close to the Dreamscape,” Carolyn agrees. “It was close enough that Del and I were able to get us there accidentally. Do you think the cleansing of the Benford place would mean it’s not as close now?”

“You know what happened to the wards,” Nikolai reminds her. “Everything kept coming back to that one place, and I think that points to it being exactly the kind of place Pawel’s looking for. I’ve been to the Berman house here—”

“So have I,” Carolyn says softly.

“Then you’ve been to both, too. You know what I mean. They aren’t the same, but they correlate,” Nikolai says. “Alia won’t like the risk, but I think Val could be persuaded. The Alia and Val of our world,” he amends, because now there’s a Valentine here, too, and talking about them is potentially confusing. “I don’t know what Alia here would think about it, and it’s probably not something Valentine really gets to talk about. It’s not her home.”

“The Alia of this world isn’t a fan of magic,” Mac admits.

“But she’s getting better.” Carolyn closes her laptop, opens the notebook instead. She shows a page with cards drawn on it, and neatly penned writing beneath. “She actually came to me for a reading a couple of months ago, and I told her to start a revolution. Which is exactly what seems to be happening.”

Mac makes a hmm sort of noise and steals another one of Cass’s chips.

“I actually need to get back to work.” Nate slides his plate in front of Mac, the sandwich gone but a pile of crispy chips still remaining. “Let me out, then you can finish my chips. Leave Cass’s alone.”

Mac and Carolyn slide out to let him go, but Carolyn doesn’t manage to sit down again before her phone sings out. She looks at the number, lips pressed together as she silences it. “I’ve got to go,” she says, shoving her laptop and notebook back in the bag. “I’ll get something to eat later.”

“Want me to bring something back to the house for you?” Mac offers as Carolyn is already walking away.

“Actually, yeah, that’d be great. I just need to—” She stops several steps from the table, turning back to say, “Make Nikolai and Seth take something home for Pawel.”

“If he’s eating granola bars he’ll eat whatever they put out, probably, yes,” Mac agrees.

“And tell Serina that I—”

“Had to go. She’s right there,” Cass points. “Kiss her on your way out. I’m sure she gets it.”

“She probably doesn’t really get it,” Mac murmurs as Carolyn catches Serina and kisses her cheek on the way by. “Serina’s kind of swept up in this because Carolyn is, but she hasn’t really been a part of it. It’s all happening around her. Alaric and Nikita are on her floor. She’s got Carolyn. But she’s not Talented and she just kind of goes with the flow.”

“But she’s there for Carolyn,” Seth says. “Right? Sometimes when one person’s the raging river of chaos, it’s good that the other one’s the stable rock.”

Nikolai reaches under the table to slide his hand over Seth’s knee in silent thanks for being his rock. “Are you saying I dragged you into this?”

“You are the Dreamwalker who dismantled wards so badly that you not only got us thrown out of Havenhill, we left the world entirely,” Seth says. The sharp words are softened by a fond smile, and Nikolai can’t resist stealing a kiss.

“Is that what I look like?” Cass murmurs.

“All the time,” Mac whispers back. “Only you tend to look even more like you’re going to jump Dax any second. What I’d like to know, though, is when you and Nate started trading food like an old married couple?”

Cass blinks. “You stole my chips, not him.”

They’re distracted and it’s a perfect time to steal another kiss that tastes of blueberry crêpe and bittersweet chocolate. While Cass and Mac bicker and laugh in the background, Nikolai can just enjoy the moment here with Seth.

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[kyogre-blue]

Nanowrimo, day 18 (wc 1870)

(Notes: finally done with this interlude, next we’re back to actually advancing the story!) 

Ever since he and Alibaba had come to a decision about their departure, Sinbad had been nearly vibrating with anticipation. Overflowing with energy, he had volunteered to take care of all the preparations for sailing to the extreme north -- insisted on it, really -- and he had been running around Balbadd in pursuit of just that for days. 

They needed supplies, of course. Also, a map and any advice possible on the route. What landmarks were there along the very long coast? What bearings should they take and for how long? What was the weather like? Sinbad was confident in his sailing skills and intuition, but more information wouldn’t hurt. 

Beyond that, they needed a ship. Large enough for two people and potentially large amounts of treasure, but also small and simple enough to be manned by just one, since Alibaba admitted to having no seagoing experience at all. Since he was like that and the weather would quite possibly be poor, it would be better to have at least a cabin he could hide in... 

Sinbad’s head spun a little with all these considerations, but mostly he just felt an overwhelming surge of excitement. 

This was it. This was what a real adventure felt like -- this was what he’d always dreamed of! 

Sailing off to a faraway land of rumors, searching for a mystic treasure, gaining countless new experiences... It was all in his grasp now. 

The day before their decided upon departure date -- which Alibaba had inexplicably moved a week prior -- Sinbad rushed home to declare the good news of his accomplishments. Conveniently, Alibaba had been waiting in the front hall. He jumped as the door was thrown open and his companion burst inside. 

“Done! Everything is ready to go!” Sinbad declared.  

“...Okay,” Alibaba agreed. He sighed, clutching some documents he’d been looking over to his chest. “Just… just come in and close the door.” 

Sinbad’s mouth twitched. This guy had the soul of an old woman and he complained about as much too. “Come on, be a little come excited,” Sinbad urged him. “We have a ship! And a destination! An adventure!” 

“Okay, okay,” Alibaba repeated. Waving to a servant who had peeked out from one of the inner rooms, he gestured for Sinbad to sit down next to him. “Tell me about it.” 

Sinbad settled onto the couch, only to start fidgeting excitedly almost right away. Jumping to his feet again, he began to pace small circles in front of Alibaba. “We have a ship,” he explained, gesticulating broadly. “It’s nothing too big, but there’s a cabin and a sizeable hold, for anything we pick up. There’s plenty of supplies and…” 

Alibaba nodded along, somewhat distractedly. He did know the basics of what was necessary for sea voyages, just like he seemed to know at least something about everything and never be entirely at a loss, so it shouldn’t have been that he didn’t understand what Sinbad was explaining. Was he really just that unexcited? It couldn’t be. What young man didn’t dream of adventure? They were only a few years apart! Did those few years really have the power to turn you this dull? 

“...Are you listening?” Sinbad wondered, trailing off. 

“Yes, of course,” Alibaba answered immediately. 

“Then what did I just say?” 

The two of them stared at each other. Sinbad turned away first, palming his face. He sounded just like his mom, he realized. 

Before he could figure out how to react, Anise slipped into the front hall -- sending Alibaba scrambling to hide his face from her, as if he really thought she hadn’t already seen him around the house countless times. “Young Master,” she called out, making Sinbad squirm a little on reflex, “Madam is looking for you. If you would follow me…” 

“Did anything happen?” Sinbad asked as they walked. “Is Mom…” 

Anise smiled and held a finger to her lips. 

A delicious, terribly familiar scent wafted over from the room they stopped in front of. “Madam, Young Master is here,” Anise announced and, with a quick bow to Sinbad, retreated. 

He had to admit, his curiosity had been piqued. Based on the delicious aroma, he could guess the what -- it could only be Esra’s home cooking -- but he couldn’t imagine why all the secrecy and stalling. It wasn’t as if he and Esra didn’t eat together every evening. He’d always made sure to return from training or exploring or preparations early enough, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he departed for an unforeseeable length of time. 

Was it because they were leaving tomorrow? Making this guess, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

As he had expected, a table full of numerous dishes had been set for two. The ingredients were somewhat different, but it was all clearly Partevian cuisine, something he had to admit he missed sometimes, no matter how he interesting he found the many dishes of varied origin available in Balbadd. 

“Sinbad, welcome back,” Esra greeted him. “And, happy birthday.” 

...Ah. “Heh,” Sinbad chuckled, “I forgot about that.” 

Smiling, Esra waved him over. “I thought so,” she said. “The last few years, we couldn’t do anything at all. I guess it’s natural not to look forward to it... But this time, all of this is for you. I haven’t cooked for a while, so I hope the taste isn’t too bad. Don’t force yourself if I made a mistake, okay?” 

Personally, Sinbad thought it was more because he wasn’t a kid anymore, to be counting every birthday. But looking at his mother’s smiling, almost glowing face, he could only smile back and readily start piling food onto his plate. 

“‘s delicious!” he mumbled around a mouthful. Swallowing everything down and reaching for more, he added, “With a present like this, I’ll definitely look forward to birthdays more!” 

Esra laughed and ruffled his hair. Sinbad endured it with good grace. “I’ll definitely be happy if you visit every year! But that’s not your real gift.” 

“There’s more?” 

“There’s more,” Esra agreed happily. “But first -- eat up, birthday boy!” 

~.~ 

Tapping the neat rows of writing on a scroll, Alibaba asked, “Do you understand?” 

“M-more or less...” Anise said. She didn’t sound or look very sure, with her brows furrowed deeply and biting her lip. “But, Sir Ali, I only learned a little writing at... my previous job... I don’t have any experience with this kind of matter.” 

“Of course you do. You’ve kept track of how much money you receive and how much you spend, right? It’s the same principle,” Alibaba assured her. “The totals of what was loaned and how much they should pay back when are all written here. You just need to receive it when they pay back and confirm that it’s the right amount. All of the loans were confirmed with these banks, so if someone tries to refuse to pay, you can go directly to the bank and have them deal with it.” 

As a merchant nation, Balbadd was very serious about matters of money, and Alibaba had gone the extra step of having all the contract signings observed and confirmed by a third party. If someone seriously tried to weasel out of paying, they could be reported to the authorities for their punishment, which would be anything for being temporarily blacklisted until they repaid what they owed to even a criminal sentence. 

Slowly, Anise nodded. 

“Don’t worry. I know you can do it,” Alibaba said with absolute certainty. He had explained entrusting the task of managing his investments to Anise as a necessity, given Esra’s weak health and the other servants’ lack of even Anise’s rudimentary reading ability. But the truth was that he would have always picked her first no matter what. 

“If Sir Ali believes so, then I will do my best not to let you down,” Anise finally agreed. 

“Great! Then, since you’ll be handling an additional responsibility, you can go ahead and add another twenty to your salary...” Alibaba started to say, pulling out the manor’s ledger. 

“No, no! That’s not right!” Anise protested. “There’s no need! My salary is already too much for just a servant!” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Alibaba said, ignoring her protests and putting an additional mark next to her name. “This way, you can buy your son a present for his birthday. He’ll be four in a few days, right?” 

Anise’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ah, Sir Ali... you know about that?” she said, her tone slightly strange. 

The look she gave him was strange too. It seemed like she was overthinking a small detail he could have found out by accident in a number of ways, and not because he was a time traveler who knew his own birthday. Suddenly, Alibaba had the strong impression that she, like Sinbad and Esra, had come to her own conclusions about his background. 

But that didn’t make any sense. If he considered how it looked from Sinbad’s perspective, Alibaba could vaguely guess what he and his mother were assuming -- between his resemblance to Anise and his own child self, Anise’s status as a single mother with no partner in sight, and Alibaba’s not entire subtle reactions to her. 

Anise, however, knew very well her own family situation, or lack thereof. She couldn’t have possibly taken him for a brother, cousin, whatever like Sinbad and Esra seemed to have. 

What in the world was she thinking? 

“Sir Ali, just what is that you...” Anise started, only to trail off, pursing her lips. After a moment of deep internal conflict that flickered across her open, expressive face, she shook her head and smiled again. “I won’t let you down,” she repeated. 

What Alibaba had overlooked was that he resembled both his parents. The truth was naturally too preposterous for Anise to guess, but when she looked at him, the face she thought of wasn’t her own. Rather, it was that of the 22nd king of Balbadd. 

There were no immediate branches in the royal family, but that didn’t mean there were none at all. 

Was it possible this was that man’s kindness...? 

Sneaking another glance at ‘Sir Ali’, Anise chose to remain silent. At the palace, she had learned that there were some things better left unspoken. 

Of course, there were also things that needed to be said, or they would remain an eternal regret. 

~.~ 

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” Sinbad realized when they were two days out of Balbadd and had settled into smooth sailing across the smooth blue sea. “What about you? When is your birthday?” 

Alibaba blinked and frowned thoughtfully. He ignored Sinbad’s raised eyebrows at the complicated thinking this seemingly simple question required. 

When he went into Amon, it had been two months after his birthday, and he had just turned seventeen. When he came out, it was fourteen years in the past and also three months earlier. In a way, his birthday was tomorrow. But it wasn’t like he was actually turning eighteen. How to even count in a situation like that? 

“Well... it’s not for a while,” Alibaba said finally, with an awkward smile. 

In a way, it was true. Alibaba Saluja’s eighteenth’s birthday was not for a very long time yet. 

[danielcooperrp]

That Would Be Enough

A Steggy fic I wrote ages ago for @thenamesallison

It turns out, mornings are often more difficult to survive than wars. The dirty clothes bin is overflowing, and on his way to the bathroom, Steve trips over a pair of underwear, careening into the armoire. He bounces off of it and keeps moving, tie half-knotted as he spits toothpaste into the sink. There’s a bang from the kitchen, but he ignores it as he runs his fingers through his hair; no time for grooming, he’s just going to have to deal with bedhead today.

He steps out of the bathroom and crashes into Peggy, who’s half-dressed. “Oatmeal’s on the stove,” she says, darting around him to snatch her blazer from the closet.

“Thanks,” he replies absentmindedly, mentally reviewing the day he has planned. “Did you schedule that meeting with Senator Lebrand?”

“Yes, that’s your lunch for today.” Peggy jumps up and down, trying to get her pantyhose on as quickly as possible. She wobbles a bit, almost like she’s going to fall, but Steve puts a hand on her shoulder, both to steady her and to help himself work his foot into his shoe. “And don’t forget,” she adds, “I have the phone call with the prime minister today at four, so I’ll probably be home late.”

“Four?” Steve asks, surprised, as he heads for the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he shouts, “Isn’t that late for the UK? Won’t it be nine there?”

“Not that prime minister!” Peggy shouts back. She sticks her head in the closet again, searching for the twin of her black leather pump. “The prime minister of Canada!”

Steve reappears in the doorway, a bowl of quickly-cooling oatmeal in his hand. Through a mouthful of mush he asks, “Tha’ prime minner o’ wha’?”

Peggy sighs. “Of Canada.” She slips the found shoe onto her foot. “I have to go. Morning briefing’s in an hour and I haven’t even begun the reading for it.”

“You’ll have time in the car, though.”

“Yes of course. You should leave, too, you can’t be late for—are you eating?”

Steve looks down at the bowl in confusion. “Yes?”

“After you’ve already brushed your teeth?”

“I—oh.”

Peggy rolls her eyes and grabs her briefcase from the chair in the corner of the bedroom. “I’ve got to run.” She walks up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Don’t run out on me now,” he says with the faintest pout, but Peggy gives him a look. “I’m not the one who decided that morning sex was more important than getting up with the alarm.”

“True.” He kisses her, an oatmealy-toothpastey kiss. “See you for dinner?”

“If the prime minister doesn’t keep me on the phone for too long.” She breezes past him, heading for the front door. “Love you!”

“La’ ya too!” he replies through another mouthful of oatmeal.

By the time Peggy staggers through the door, dinner’s nearly cold. Neither of them minds cold food all that much, though; years of field rations makes one amenable to almost anything. Steve’s at the dinner table, dinner plate untouched, flipping through the newspaper. He looks up when she enters, and smiles. “How was work?”

Peggy lets out a frustrated groan and collapses at the table, her briefcase clanging to the floor beside her. “Founding S.H.I.E.L.D. was probably the worst idea I have ever had.”

Steve puts a hand over hers and squeezes. “You know that’s not true. S.H.I.E.L.D. is your baby. You’re proud of the work you do.”

“I mean, I do, it’s just…did you know that trying to maintain an extra-governmental international military organization would involve stroking so many egos?”

With a laugh, Steve stands, kisses her forehead, and grabs both of their plates of room temperature spaghetti. “You’re forgetting that I was in the military, too. So yes, I did know.”

“I’m trying to get things done here, and it feels like for every piece of intelligence I try to collect, I have to ply the person holding said intelligence with a thousand compliments.” She sighs, watching Steve put the plates in the oven for reheating. “I’m trying to save the world from threats of nuclear annihilation, you’d think there’d be a bit more of a sense of urgency from these people.”

Steve walks up behind her and begins to rub her shoulders. “You’re doing good work, important work. All of that other stuff is irrelevant. When you stop an active nuclear attack on the US, then people will pay attention. Just you wait.”

“Well you don’t have to wait, do you?” Peggy grumbles. “You’re Captain America. People throw themselves at your feet. I’m just Captain America’s girlfriend.”

“You’re the woman who runs Captain America’s life,” Steve argues, returning to his seat beside her. “You are the woman who keeps Captain America sane, and put-together, and strong. You’re the most important thing in Captain America’s life.”

“And a Brit to boot.”

Steve laughs. “True.” He picks up her hand and kisses it. “These people—foreign leaders, military experts, intelligence operatives—they’re not going to trust you quickly because you’re a woman. It’s terrible that that’s the world we live in but it’s true. But I know you. I know your tenacity, and your strong will, and your drive. You are carving out a path in the international sphere for S.H.I.E.L.D., and you are going to rule the world someday, and nobody’s even going to remember little old Captain America.”

With a sigh, Peggy tips her head onto Steve’s shoulder. “Some days I just want to stay home and be with you. Is that terrible of me to say? That some days, with my being at S.H.I.E.L.D. and your being at Fort Hamilton, all I want is to be at home, with you?”

“Of course not.” Steve rests his head atop hers. “If I could I would spend every minute with you. But I believe that both of us have a purpose beyond ourselves, to make the world a better, safer place. I think that purpose requires sacrifice, and that sacrifice is inherently terrible. But every time I think of how absolutely revolutionary S.H.I.E.L.D. is, how game-changing, I am so proud of you, and so happy that you’re not just here at home, waiting for me, being a housewife. You are destined for bigger things than that, Peggy, and don’t you ever forget it.”

Peggy twists her head and kisses him, a hard, passionate kiss. She breaks it off a few moments later with a laugh. “I forgot how good you are at inspirational speeches. A few sentences more and I would have been ready to punch Hitler myself.”

The timer on the stove dings, and Steve stands, chuckling. “C’mon. Let me get some food in you, and you can vent about your day. Sound good?”

And she thinks, Sounds perfect.

[taylorroger-s]

happy new year // roger taylor x reader

a/n i am a total hoe for soulmate aus. so might as well start out this year with one of my guilty pleasures. the one that i chose is : you can’t see the color of your soulmates eyes (if your soulmate’s eyes are green, you can’t see any green). only their eyes have that color, and you can’t see the rest of the world in that color, until you touch them (is this incoherent? idk i can’t tell). cheesy, but i love it. get ready for a debaucherous (i love that word) queen party, and some good old fashioned eighties bs.

just too clear something up, you can’t see the eye color if your soulmate is in a picture. so if you see a picture of your soulmate, you won’t be able to see the color of their eyes.

masterlist here!

also i got a little carried away so it turned into a little bit of an oc fic??? lmao

enjoy :)

⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱

until new years eve 1978, you were totally convinced that the color blue was a myth.

twenty seven years on planet earth, with still one color missing from your life. and you were used to it. all of your friends had found their soulmates young, always gleefully describing the dresses in store windows and the daytime sky. to you, it was all grey. and you really didn’t mind. sunsets were still beautiful, so were the colorless flowers and pale fabrics.

plus, you weren’t terribly concerned with your personal life as much as you were for your professional life. you weren’t hung up on finding your soulmate, though sometimes you would drift off and wonder what your life would be like if you had already found that one person with bright blue eyes.

you woke up on december twenty-ninth, refreshed and desperate to make it to the weekend. your friend had been hinting that she had a special surprise for you, but wouldn’t tell you until friday. well, it was friday, and you were anxious to find out. you desperately hoped she hadn’t gone searching for people with “blue” eyes (as she had already found her soulmate and knew the color), then set you up on blind dates. you knew all that she wanted to do was help you find “the one”, but you were fine with just casual dates, casual relationships.

it was another grey day in london, with rain streaming down the windows and pooling in potholes. you worked at a diner downtown, one serving more american themed dishes. all you really got there were groups of tourists or drunk people stumbling in during your late night shifts. it kept things quite entertaining. fridays were your easiest shift. nine to three, just having to deal with the light lunch rush. then immediately after, you were scheduled to meet at a local coffee shop with your friend where she would finally reveal what she had been planning.

the one thing you truly couldn’t stand about your work was the uniform you had to wear. it was a fifties style dress, designed to look like one for an old-fashioned housewife. yours was a creamy pastel yellow, with a crisp white apron that held your notepad, a polaroid of your childhood dog, and a pack of cigarettes. you wrestled your unruly curls into a loose updo, topping it off with a yellow headband that matched the color of your dress.

you looked exactly like a mid fifties woman, the light colors of the dress contrasting nicely with your deep brown skin. yawning slowly, you shuffled over to your clock, eyes widening when you realized what time it was. 8:20. bollocks. your commute in itself was nearly half an hour using the underground, which a ten minute walk in your frilly dress, no matter what the weather. if you didn’t leave right then, you would be late for your shift.

throwing on a dark red overcoat, you headed out the door, a granola bar and scarf in hand. you lived alone in a tiny flat right near the outskirts of the city, and the nearest underground station was a brisk walk away. your commute passed in silence, and soon enough you were at your work, just a few minutes before your shift began.

“hello my dear.” crooned a stout woman name rosie as you entered the break room. you gave her a quick smile and a nod in response. she gave you a pat on the back as she passed by, placing her burnt out cigarette on a nearby ashtray. there was a small mirror on the wall, and you walked over to it, adjusting your overflowing curls.

after putting on your “professional” smile, you went into the main dining room. at the front was a group of people waiting to be seated. there was a ridiculously tall man with a wild mane of curls, a shorter man with close cropped curly hair, another man with a particularly bold fur coat, and a lanky woman seated next to someone with fluffy blond hair. you couldn’t quite spot their face as they appeared to be whispering something to the woman that made her giggle and blush. the tallest one approached you, a kind smile on his angular features.

“hullo, do you have a table for five?”

“of course! right this way sir!” you chirped, grabbing five menus from behind the hostess podium. waving the group towards you, your eyes scanned for an empty table. you placed the menus down on a corner booth, giving your brief spiel about the daily specials and if they wanted coffee. you still hadn’t been able to see who the blond haired individual was, but you had other tables to deal with.

after greeting another table, you returned to the table with the five people, the blond one and the woman they were talking with noticeably absent.

“y’all ready to order?” you asked as you poured their coffee. the one with the bouncy curls nodded, flipping to the omelette page.

“yes okay… i’ll have the veggie omelette, and deaky,” he tilted his head towards the man next to him.

“i’ll have the chocolate chip pancakes,”

“and i’ll have the eggs benedict darling! roger must be off with his plaything doing god knows what,” the man in the vivid coat huffed dramatically, taking a sip from his coffee cup.

“just some hash browns for them i guess. thank you so much love.” you gave him a bright smile, tucking a stray curl behind your ear.

“sure thing! that all sir?”

“darling please, call me freddie.” he gave you a wink, and you returned his crooked smile.

freddie huh?

while walking away, you had an inkling feeling that those people were… important in some way, but you couldn’t put your finger on what exactly was bothering you. it took a few more minutes of flitting around before you finally got an answer, from one of the chefs whispering in the kitchen as you went to pick up their food.

“oh my god… is that queen?”

queen. world renowned rock band that broke every expectation and barrier set before them. and you were serving them. at nine fifteen am. in downtown london. holy shit. once you made that revelation, you handed off the dishes, and ducked into the storeroom, back pressed to the wall.

holy shit.

in that moment, you were almost painfully aware of the grey in your vision. the sky would always be grey, no matter the weather. there was one color missing from your life, and all the shades that came with it. sometimes, you only wanted to meet your soulmate in order to make the world whole.

too soon, your little moment was over, and you had to put on the happy face once more. i still have samantha’s surprise, you thought to yourself. plus, your day was already quite nice thanks to the world famous band that you were serving.

however, once you entered the dining room, they were gone, most likely due to the masses that had flocked to your little diner when someone got word of their presence. their plates were half-finished, with a small napkin wrapped package on the table. intrigued, you walked over. in the little package was a hundred pound bill, and a small handwritten note.

‘so sorry for ducking out darling, the crowds were getting a little heavy. here’s some money for your troubles.

in other news, the boys and i would like to extend an invitation to our new years party. you seem like a lovely girl, and stunningly beautiful might i add. i promise you, the festivities will not disappoint.

if you decide not to go, that is fine as well. the party is gonna be in feltham, and i bet you’ll be able to find it. our parties tend to leave a trace.

wish you the best my dear!

- freddie mercury, brian may, john deacon, and roger taylor’

what?

-----

six hours later your shift was over, the lunch rush passing by without much fanfare. due to you heading out the door in such disarray, you had forgotten a change of clothes for your hang out with samantha. so you walked in to the closest pub in a frilly yellow dress. she was leaning against the bar, sipping a moscow mule. once sam spotted you with her sharp brown eyes, she waved you over, beaming ridiculously.

you immediately ran over and wrapped her in a hug, almost spilling her drink in the process. she laughed, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before hopping up onto a nearby barstool. her fiery red hair framed a grinning face, freckles spotting her nose and cheeks.

“oh my god, samantha, you would not believe what happened today!” you sighed heavily, letting your curls tumble down from your updo. the bartender pushed a pint your way, probably already ordered by sam. she was too good to you.

“o oh me first! guess what i got us an invitation to?” she wiggled her eyebrows, finishing off her drink in one gulp. you shrugged, giving her a “continue” gesture. slowly sipping your pint, you kept your eyes on your rambunctious friend.

“my friend mindy, the hairdresser, happens to cut hair for a certain mr. mercury…” she smirked, taking a sip from her second (as far as you knew) drink.

“long story short… WE’RE GOING TO QUEEN’S NEW YEARS PARTY!!!” sam let out a triumphant whoops, doing a little dance as you and an old man at the other end of the bar watched. you were truthfully too stunned to give a proper reaction, and she soon noticed.

“hellooooo, they’re only one of the most popular bands in the world! and we! can! hang! out! with! them! at freddie fucking mercury’s house! how are you not losing it! i know how much you love them.” you shook your head, laughing quietly to yourself. you soon couldn’t stop, shoulders shaking. sam looked at you, concern evident on her face. before she could question your reason for random laughter, you spoke up.

“funny story now, i may or may not have waited on mr. mercury on the rest of the band today at work.��� you could feel a bright smile stretching across your features as your friend’s face fell in shock. the straw fell out of her mouth, drink tipping dangerously to one side.

“aaaaaand he left me an invite as well. and a hundred pound tip.” she soon caught on, shrieking in glee.

“who cares how we got invited. we’re going to queen’s new years party!!!!!!” you both danced around in a little circle, quickly shutting up when the aging female bartender shot you both a withering glare.

you were going to queen’s new years party.

this was gonna be fun.

-----

you spent the night of the twenty-ninth of december having a movie night with your cousin who was in town. you didn’t tell her about the queen party, since it still didn’t feel quite real. on saturday you headed out with sam, searching for some outfits for the party. a high end boutique called biba wasn’t far from when you worked, so after covering an early morning shift for rosie, you headed out.

“ooo this would look so good on you y/n!” sam shoved another short dress your way, yet another shade of grey. for some reason, samantha was absolutely convinced that your soulmate would be there at the party, calling it her “matchmaker sense” but she couldn’t talk, she had found her soulmate at eighteen. she swore to you that everything she picked out was blue, though she could have found silver and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

“davey isn’t gonna be joining us, just not his scene, so it’ll be a girls night!” sam ran around you in circles, tucking in a piece of fabric here, ruffling a skirt there. this particular dress was quite form-fitting, in a medium “blue” that hit you right at the mid thigh. but sheer fabric dripped down the skirt, in a slightly lighter shade, making it appear as if you were fading away. it was truly gorgeous. the dress had a sweetheart neckline in the darker “blue” fabric, then the sheer fabric created long sleeves and a neckline that stopped right at your collarbone.

it was gorgeous. sam picked out accessories made of silver and apparently the same “blue” as most of the dress. you had a velvet choker, jacket style earrings shaped to look like teardrops, and a set of stackable rings in silver and the dark blue. you had styled your own hair, braiding close to your scalp into two even plaits. your eyelids glitter silver, white eyeliner turning up into a cat eye. you had dark grey lipstick, that sam insisted was a dark blue. despite your inability to see the primary color of your ensemble, you were still stunning in all grey, contrasting with your dark brown skin.

you looked like a benevolent goddess of night and stars, a femme fatale that could rule the world.

“puuurrrrfect darling.” sam crooned, obviously doing an impression of freddie mercury and failing with pride. you giggled like a schoolgirl, still gazing dreamily at your striking reflection. sam came up from behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder. she assured you that she already had an outfit picked out, so she was dressed down, ruby-red hair loose around her shoulders.

“okay so plan for tomorrow…” you tore yourself away from your reflection, turning back to sam.

“davey and i come pick you up at nine, he drops us off, and we go get shitfaced!” you chuckled at her unbridled enthusiasm as she danced around, pumping her fist in the air. you carefully took off the dress and various accessories, slipping on your simple street clothes. sam gathered the clothing her arms, insisting that she pay for the outfit. though you put up a fight, she won, and you spent the ride back to your house thanking her profusely. the two of you met your first year of college and had become inseparable ever since. that night was spent like many in your uni days. homemade popcorn, the brady bunch, matching pajamas, and falling asleep on your couch.

-----

sam had been gone the next morning, leaving you to lounge around until it was nearly time for them to arrive. after a quick dinner of reheated chicken tikka masala, you headed to your bedroom.

you dressed slowly, having to redo your makeup a few times due to the incessant shaking of your hand. the idea of where you were going was so surreal. the freddie fucking mercury had invited you, a waitress with a masters degree in physics, to his new years eve party. the thought almost made you laugh. but under that, was an overwhelming amount of childhood giddiness. your reflection looked almost like a girl playing dress up instead of the goddess you looked like yesterday. still beautiful.

after you finally slipped into a pair of “blue” flats and finally got your winged liner perfect, sam was knocking at your door. she was wearing a fringed gold mini dress, long hair pulled into a tight bun. her eyelids and cheeks were dusted with a similar shade of gold, and she wore a red lipstick just barely brighter than her hair. she grinned at you, showing a hint of slightly crooked teeth.

“you ready to get plastered mdear?” her trademark grin appeared once she got a full look at your ensemble, a hint of pride visible in her eyes. your appearance was a result of her handiwork after all. you couldn’t help but match her enthusiasm.

this was going to be a night to remember.

on the car ride to wherever freddie’s estate was, queen blasted from the radio in david’s car. somebody to love was playing. samantha’s fingers were intertwined with her boyfriend’s as she sat in the passenger seat next to him. she sang along with a smile on her lips, occasionally turning around to grin at you.

hearing that particular song, in that particular setting, with those two particular people, made you a little wistful. you didn’t even want a romantic relationship in particular. just the person out there with the soul that fits perfectly with yours.

before you knew it, davey had pulled up to the curb about a block away from the house, since all the parking spaces on the curb were occupied. you and sam said your goodbyes to davey, sam opting for a quick kiss.

as you made your way closer to the house, you started to feel in over your head. there were pairs of people clustered together on the lawn, stumbling around. you approached the doorstep, sam not far behind. you gave her a nervous look, hand coming up too readjust your hair for what felt like the hundredth time. sam took your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“ready y/n?”

“ready sammy.”

she smiled, and with her other hand opened the door and entered the chaos. you followed close behind, jaw dropping when you encountered the party raging on inside.

there seemed to be just a singular mass of people, all moving and tipping to the beat of a bass drum. at first you were too stunned to move, just gazing wide eyed at the party. but you forgot that your hand was still joined with sam’s, and she pulled you gently away from the doorway, slipping between the people. you could feel the thrum of the music in your chest as you walked too where sam was dragging you. it was to the alcohol.

she pulled her hand away to fill four shot glasses with vodka, handing you two of them with a mischievous grin.

“to 1979!”

“to 1979.”

counting to three, you knocked one of the shots back, followed by the second one immediately after. you could feel a warm buzz from the alcohol filling your senses, slightly burning the back of your throat. sam shouted an inaudible goodbye before disappearing, leaving you to take another shot alone and then crack open a bottle of beer. you could feel the alcohol begin to relax you, releasing the tension from your shoulders.

you felt a silly grin paint your features when the next song played, an upbeat elton john record that you had on vinyl back at home. you hopped onto the dance floor, the loose fabric of your dress brushing against your thighs. it felt really good to let loose, since you rarely had a break from dealing with people all day long. now you could relax under the soft influence of alcohol, dancing with whoever the fuck you wanted, soulmates be damned.

you danced your way through the space, randomly spinning into people's arms, giggling wildly. eventually, you stumbled into a break in the crowd, now standing around the edge of a circle of couches. four men were seated there, obviously the center of attention.

queen.

you managed to catch freddie mercury’s eye, giving him a tiny wave that you were convinced he didn’t see. he did, and he came over to you, taking you by the shoulders and giving you two brief cheek kisses.

“you were our waitress from the other day, yes? y/n? oh my dear, i’m so glad you can make it. i hope you are enjoying yourself!”

“definitely! thank you so much for inviting me by the way. and for the tip!” you had to shout to carry a conversation in the chaotic space, constant chatter and music filling the hot air. or maybe you were shouting because of the alcohol in your system.

“anytime love,” just then, fat bottomed girls started playing, and freddie beamed at you.

“now go dance! leave 1978 in the dust with flair!” he gave your shoulder a gentle push, moving you towards the dance floor, which seemed to be everywhere. you gave him one last smile and danced your way into the crowd to the lyrics “hey i was just a skinny lad / never knew no good from bad”

freddie turned back to the band, taking a seat right next to brian. he looked over, spotting roger staring at the place where you had disappeared with an awestruck expression.

“oi fred, who was that?” he turned towards freddie, a hint of childish excitement in his words.

“the waitress we had the other day that you didn’t meet because you were in the bathroom shagging that one girl.” he winced at freddie’s words, but roger still leaned forward, now ignoring the girl who was, up until then, trailing her hand down his chest.

“what’s got you so excited, huh?” deaky glanced over at roger, taking a swig from his beer bottle. roger shot him a glare, but soon went back to his excited and tense expression.

“say deaky, what color was that girl’s eyes?” deaky turned back to roger, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

“you don’t think…”

“i do think.” roger said those words with a finality, finishing off the drink in his hand, the girl by his side completely forgotten.

“i caught a glimpse of her face as she turned away, and her eyes looked, different. they were unlike any color i’d ever seen.”

“holy shit.” deaky whispered, placing his beer bottle on the low coffee table between the couches.

“rog, you can’t seriously…” brian began, getting cut off by roger beginning to speak again. he muttered to the girl by his side, probably a half assed apology due to her immediate storming away from the band.

“yes brian, i am serious,” roger leapt to his feet, anxiously adjusting his half-open button down and hair in the back of a spoon resting on the table. freddie grinned, giving roger a quick hug before patting his cheek.

“go get her rog, i believe in you.”

“thanks, fred. wish me luck!” roger called out as he slipped away, leaving the other three band members a little startled by the sudden change of mood.

“you could see that her eyes were the right color fred, didn’t you?” brian asked, readjusting to look his bandmate in the eye. freddie’s smile was evidence enough that he had invited you on the hunch that you were roger’s soulmate. and it seemed that he was right.

“of course darling, he deserves something steady, and i have a feeling she will be more than capable to handle his energy.”

-----

you had spent the last hour dancing with various people, at one point even exchanging a sloppy kiss with someone on the dance floor following a long slow dance to love of my life. you were then dancing with a small group of girls, including sam, who you found in just a few minutes after entering the main heart of the party.

too soon, it was nearing midnight, and you took a moment to review your 1978.

you had finally completed your masters degree in physics, had a flat all to yourself, a job that helped pay the bills, a best friend who would always be by your side, and more yet to come. though you didn’t find your soulmate in ‘78, the next year and the next year were unable to peer into, so anything could happen.

while gazing off into the distance while everyone danced around you, someone tapped on your shoulder. when you spun around freddie mercury was there, a mischievous smile on his sharp features.

“hello my dear, i truly hope you have a wonderful 2019, and i have a feeling there is much in store for you.”

“and to you too freddie, may you be blessed with a thousand cats and a thousand spot on performances.” he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing, but there was a person behind him looking right at you. when you looked up to meet their eyes, you nearly had a heart attack. fluffy blond hair framed the beaming face of notorious rockstar roger taylor. but what really shocked you to your core were his eyes.

they felt like a break in the clouds, a cool breeze on a hot day, the missing puzzle piece. he was possibly the most beautiful creature you had ever seen, with the most stunning eyes of a fresh, new color.

they were blue.

blue! the color wasn’t a myth! he looked as awestruck as you felt, lips parted slightly as he took a step towards you. you barely registered the countdown echoing around you as you slowly walked closer to roger. you were soon no more than six inches away from each other, and you were able to smell his heavy cologne, sour cigarette smoke, and the whiskey on his breath.

but most of all those eyes. as the countdown slowly drew into single digits, you felt a single tear roll down your cheek.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

roger than cupped your face in his hands and crashed his lips against yours, your eyes closing as you felt his hand slip too the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. you felt a tremor run through your body from ever part of your body that was pressed against his. your hands were around his neck, his hands slipping down to your waist. you wanted to stay in that moment forever, your soul finally feeling… well, you didn’t quite know. once the cheers around you had subsided, roger slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

you opened your eyes, only focusing on the beautiful man you were wrapped up in. he gazed at you with pure adoration, and you could see a smear of your lipstick on his face.

and it was blue.

“hi.” you whispered, unable to look away from him.

“hi.” he responded, warm breath on your cheeks. his arms were low around your waist, toying with the sheer fabric of your dress. your dress! you glanced down, gasping a little at what your dress had become. it was just like sam had described it. you looked back up at roger, smile even brighter than before.

“you are more beautiful than i could have ever imagined. and believe me, i have.”

“i could say the same to you.”

he smirked at your reply, raising his eyebrow in a silent question. you bit your bottom lip in response, leaning closer. as you pressed your lips against his with your fingers wrapped in his hair, samantha was standing to the side, sipping from her champagne glass. she had a triumphant smirk on her red lips. freddie mercury came up from behind her, champagne glass also in hand. he clinked his glass against hers, matching her satisfied smile.

“it seemed as though our plan worked.” she said, her voice high and airy.

“it seems so, darling.”

knocking their glasses together again, freddie was the next to speak.

“to 1979, and our best friends.”

“to 1979.”

she gazed lovingly at the two of you drunkenly slow dancing, roger leaning in to whisper in your ear every once in a while, causing you to giggle before muttering something back. you glanced over your shoulder, seeing her watching you with a bright smile.

of course she was in on this, you thought, as you spotted freddie next to her with a similar look. you turned back to roger, him completely enamored with you.

1979 was going to be the best year of your life, and you were sure of it. but for now, you just wanted to stay in the arms of your soulmate, perfectly content.

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hope y’all enjoyed this and i wish you a very happy 2019!

this is just a little one-off, so no one from my ten things taglist is tagged, but if you would like to be on a permanent taglist, i would be glad to start one!